Right
by robspace54
Summary: What if Martin had tracked Louisa down in London after she left Portwenn following their non-wedding? What might have happened after that one critical alteration of their history?
1. Chapter 1

Right

By robspace54

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

**A word of explanation, since I have decided that it makes sense to me to attach these single-chapter tales into one story. If that's confusing to you, I apologize.**

I drew back my hand and knocked on the badly painted and cracked door, the many coats of paint indicating both the age and ill care that had been taken for many years to put it in this state. There was a shuffling sound inside but no answer, so I knocked once more.

It was drawn open hurriedly and I saw a dark-haired female head bent down fiddling with a brown handbag. "Sorry, Holly - running a bit late is all." The head swung up and the startled face of Louisa Glasson, the former Head Teacher of Portwenn Primary stared at me. "Martin…" her lip sprang between her teeth. "_You're here_."

My people skills are lacking in some respects, but I could see she was confused to see me. "Yes, I came."

"Oh… I was…" she stopped, "going out." Then she sighed as her eyes panned down and saw I what I was holding. "Oh, your case."

"May I, ahem, speak…" sweat trickled down and pricked my eye. "Only for a few… uhm, my suitcase. Yes, I've just come from Paddington and…"

"I see." She pressed her hands against her light purple raincoat, "And you've not been to the hotel yet."

I nodded.

"Well, come in then. The place is a bit of a mess." She turned and retreated into a small bedsit, stuffed with a few boxes and tatty furniture. She dashed over to a small alcove where a small bed was jammed and pulled the rumpled covers up. "Sorry about… all this."

I managed to get the door closed behind me, wedging my case into the corner. The place was small, with a single narrow window admitting the sodium glow of a streetlamp, a narrow counter piled high with dirty bowls, plates and glasses, with a microwave, chipped sink, and mini-fridge at one end. A rump-sprung sofa, wardrobe and dresser, an ancient table, two mis-matched chairs and a single floor lamp completed the furnishings. Her laptop computer sat open on the scratched table next to a packet of chocolate digestives, half-filled tea cup and pile of books and papers which I assumed was schoolwork.

"Well," she forced a smile turning from the rumpled bed. I'd seen her kick crumpled knickers and bras under the bed while I inspected the room. "So, here I am."

"Yes."

"And here _you_ are." I saw her face almost break. "Uhm, you were going out. I don't want to…" I breathed deeply. Roger Fenn had told me this would be difficult. "Stop you… if you're going out."

Her eyes were guarded. "Just meeting Holly - my friend Holly."

I nodded. "How's her spine?"

"Fine, I think. She did need surgery; you were right."

"Ah, yes." We stood there like fools not knowing what to say and I certainly did not come here to talk about her horrid friend Holly. "I hope she's forgiven me for almost killing her."

"You did save her life, Martin. But you did bruise her sternum"

"Cardio-pulmonary resuscitation will do that. She'll heal," I snapped. "Uhm… in time, that is; that takes time."

Louisa lowered her handbag to the single table. "You want to stay, and talk I suppose."

"I do." I gestured to the rusty steam radiator. "Bit warm in here if you're going to keep wearing your coat." It was misting outside and cool, a very typical London late December.

She looked at me suspiciously. "Yeah, okay." She hung it on a hook, and then transferred a pile of books from the sofa to a small table. She sat down, her back rigid; feet and knees together. Her hands twisted together nervously when they weren't pawing at her hair. She looked like she was sitting outside the head master's office waiting for punishment.

She wore a green dress I'd seen before, and though her face looked slightly pinched, she must be eating more than adequately as the garment looked - well, tight. The beige sweater she had draped over her shoulders I also recognized along with the thin gold chain and garnet necklace that graced her slim neck.

"Uhm…" I wrinkled my nose as the smell of her filled rubbish bin got my attention.

"Sit down Martin. Please?"

I drew over one of the battered wooden chairs and sat on it, finding it tippy.

"Sorry, Martin, that one's a bit wonky, the other one may be better."

I switched chairs (this one creaked) and now I was even closer to her, our knees just two feet apart. "Uhm… I…"

"Thirsty? Tea or water?" she started to get up but I waved her back down.

"Ate on the train."

"Ghastly. Stale."

"Yeah." The air was hot and stuffy. "How are you?"

"Fine, fine." She looked away then pushed her hair back which she was wearing down tonight. "You?"

I made a vague motion but said nothing.

"Oh." She shifted her feet and chewed at her lip. "So this is my bedsit. Like it? Know it's not much, but… it… suits me," she said slowly and with obvious discomfiture.

The walls were a dingy shade of blue above the once white baseboards that must have last seen paint during the Crimean War. There was a patch of discolored plaster over her head that showed that here on the fifth floor the roof was none too watertight.

"Sure you wouldn't like tea? I can't offer you any espresso."

I lowered my eyes. "Tea would be fine."

"Just bought milk the other day, so it hasn't gone off yet. Gave it a sniff earlier."

"That would be…" I searched for a different word. "Nice," came out. "Two sugars."

"Right." She started to rise.

"And your new school?" I was grasping at what to say, all my planned speeches now rubbish.

She slouched back to the worn cushions. "It's okay; not quite like my old school of course."

I rubbed my hands along my trousers, trying to dry the palms. "The uhm… students?"

"Good kids; good parents, oh the odd one or two that… No, that's not right!"

"What's not right?"

She looked to the wall then back to me. "You didn't come here to talk about my school."

I nodded. "Yes, that's, uhm… you can, if you want to… your school."

"Okay," she said slowly.

We sat there trying not to look at one another, our faces four to five feet apart. I don't know how long we held that silence.

Louisa broke first. "So… how's the village? Bert still pushing along with his restaurant? How are Joan and Roger? Your aunt? And…" her voice faltered. "Heard they got a bit of an odd one for a Head Teacher now. And winter is settling in."

"All, good. Auntie Joan is fine; she asked me to say hello."

"Hello, then."

"And Roger and Maureen and the babies are…" I paused, "healthy. The weather is…cold."

"Ah."

She sat there a few seconds. "I should call Holly; tell her…"

I stood. "You've made plans."

"No, no. It's fine, fine." She got her bag and made the call. I tried not to listen but there was nowhere to hide. "Holly! Louisa! About tonight… uhm, I can't come. What's that? Yes, I know this is the third time I've called it off. Oh? Holly?" She closed the phone slowly. "Rung off. That's that."

I watched as she lowered the mobile and tucked it away. "Tea. Just take a sec." She filled a glass carafe and tucked it into the micro then started it, nervously tapping on the counter. "Sorry, Martin."

I stood at her elbow and inhaling said, "Kenzo Flower."

"You _do_ remember."

"How could I forget?" I stepped closer to her. "Louisa." I held her in my eyes and God I had missed her.

She turned, eyes wide open. "Martin."

I sighed and looked past her at the wreck of a bedsit. "What _are_ you _doing_ here?"

"I might ask the same, Martin."

"I'm… talking to you, Louisa." My collar felt tight. "I'm…" I had to sit.

The microwave pinged and she drew out the container and touched the side. "Needs more time." She sighed and restarted it. "Not a very good piece of equipment. The one in my house," her voice stopped, then she went on sadly, "worked a hell of a lot better."

Hot saliva suddenly filled my mouth and I gulped.

"Martin?" Louisa said alarmed. "Something wrong?"

I gazed up at her, her beautiful face in this horrid bedsit, looking down at me in concern. "Yes."

Louisa stood frozen waiting for an answer and I had to stand up; face her at last. "I'll tell you what's wrong. You being here in this smelly cramped room," my nose wrinkled. "And…"

"And?" her eyes were very wide as she looked up at me. "And just what exactly? You think this is some high-handed move on my part? All for some weird feminist point-scoring? Do you?" She stamped her foot. "Damn it, Martin!" she cried out striking the counter with her palm.

I sighed. "We were wrong you know; so, so wrong."

She glared at me. "Were we? We were wrong to end up here, I mean me in London and you in Portwenn? That what you mean, or just us, Martin? We're all wrong?"

"It's what happened, Louisa. It was…" I gulped, "a mistake. People make mistakes."

"What's that?" Suddenly I had her entire attention.

"We… we… Louisa, I'm trying to say…" she took my hand and I had to stop.

"Oh, Martin, we've been through all this."

"Have we? Have we Louisa?" I felt my fingers rubbing hers all on their own. I dropped her hand but she took mine in hers interlocking our fingers.

"Martin… I…" she stretched up and kissed me on the lips. "Shh."

"Louisa, we need to…"

"Shh," she kissed me again and it was like being hit by electricity; gentle electricity. It had been two months since we cancelled our wedding and she'd been in London for six weeks. It hadn't been very hard to find her and I hadn't wanted to call on her mobile. The medical records transfer procedure through the NHS gave me her address; my only fear was that she might not let me in or talk to me. Not quite my only fear…

She burrowed into my chest and for a moment I was back in her bed, or she in mine, for the warm feeling was quite the same. "Oh Louisa," I groaned as I slid my arms across her back.

"Martin, there's…" she spoke into my neck, "something, I need…"

I felt warm tears on my shirt collar and they weren't mine. "Oh, Louisa, no, don't do that," I said softly and earnestly.

"Martin…"

"Louisa," I tipped her head back so I could see her face. "No. Listen to me. You running away was madness and me staying put was madness. We're both…" my voice cracked, "wrong, so very wrong."

She peered up me her eyes brimming. "Martin, I need to tell you…"

"No, I'm telling you that you must, simply must come back to Portwenn. The, uhm, school needs you! This Mr. Strain is making a total hash of things and the Governors are on the verge of sacking him. No one is happy; not one single person is happy with the school…" She stared at me with a disappointed look. I gulped and mumbled, "Or, with me; us."

"What about _us_, Martin? And there is another thing."

"No," I tapped her lovely lips with a finger. "No. I've been conflicted far too long. My Auntie Joan says… no, damn it! I… need you._ I need you, Louisa! You must…"_

Louisa sagged against the counter. "Oh God. Martin, I… don't know what to say."

"Yes you do, Louisa. I love you. I can't bear to be without you. Marry me, _for real_, this time."

Her head sagged. "I need to tell you Martin, that…"

"Louisa, I know that some will say we're chalk and cheese, even Joan says that we are, but I do not give a damn about _them_, what they think, what they say. ALL I care about is…"

The microwave pinged and cut me off.

"Tea," she said and peeled herself out of my arms and started to rummage about for two clean cups. "Must be here somewhere. Oh, yeah. Got 'em." She set out a white bone china cup and a yellow mug with one of those stupid smiley faces on it. "Knew I had a couple more." She dunked two tea bags into the carafe and said. "Three minutes."

"Tea bags – I prefer loose."

"I know, Martin. It's what I've got." She found two spoons and a roll of paper towels. "Not much of a setting is it?" she grinned. "But," her voice fell, "what I've got."

I closed my eyes and exhaled through my nose in irritation.

"What?" She had turned to face me, one hand bobbing the bags up and down in the hot water.

"I should go," came out and it wasn't at all what I wanted to say.

"Oh. Right." Her eyes lost that expectant yet wary look and were now dull and lifeless.

I turned to my case. "I'll just go to the hotel." I had my back to her with hand on the door when she called my name.

"Martin?"

"Yes?"

She picked up her handbag and pulled a small carton out. It was mostly pink with yellow writing and it only took my baffled brain a second to know what she was holding. "Martin, I haven't been well lately. So I bought this."

"That's a home, erh, a home _pregnancy_ test." I started to sweat. She could be, she might be, I rapidly calculated, lord. Yeah, she just might be.; we only had sex three times… but oh my.

"Very observant Martin."

"Years of medical training."

She nodded. "I haven't used it, yet, but before I do, I need to say something."

"But you might be… the, uhm, test," my voice froze waiting for her words.

"Do you know why I left?"

I sighed. "I told you I wouldn't make you happy and you wouldn't, likely… make me… uhm, you know."

"Part of it." She sighed and hugged herself.

I could tell that her bust must be larger, the way they looked under her arms… oh, stop it Martin! "Go on." She very well could be pregnant.

"I ran away… uhm left…"

"Because of me, it's my fault."

"Martin, I was taught at age eleven, if not before, that running away is how the Glasson's deal with problems. We run away! We should all be marathon runners for the way we run…" she stopped, "or _want_ to."

"So you left and then what?"

"Martin, I am _bloody_ miserable and I lied, the school is horrible, the kids are all smarmy and their parents nasty, too much money with that lot, and I've been sick, and in this awful bedsit…" She sniffed and stopped.

"What are you saying?"

"I miss the ocean, Martin, and noisy seagulls, and Portwenn school, and pasties, and... you know."

"I'm sure they'd have you back, the Governors. Stu Mackenzie told me as much this morning."

Her eyes were wary. "A _job_ would be good."

"What else, uhm do you miss?" Before I could say more, she jumped on me with a fierce hug.

"Oh, you stupid, stupid, man!" She kissed me full on the mouth. "I miss you, Martin!"

There was no doubt from the way in which she was crushing me that something was… "Louisa, when you left…"

"Shh, Martin, don't spoil it."

"But…" I freed my lips, "Louisa…"

"No, let me finish! I hate London; the smells and the crowding. But worst of all is _you're_ not here."

"You mean that?" She was saying it but I was unsure if I believed her.

"Martin, I love you. I think I always have; since you diagnosed my glaucoma. You were gruff, rude, mono-syllabic, but well–meaning."

"I try to be, erh, well-meaning, that is."

Fingers started playing with my hair. "And over time, well… I wanted to know you better and saving Peter Cronk…"

"Emergency surgery in the back of an ambulance is hardly the basis of a lasting relationship Louisa." I tried to get out of her embrace but she held me fast.

"And Martin, I am sorry I slapped you."

"I deserved it, both times; both for the bad breath comment as well as the erotomania. I was…"

"Scared?"

I nodded. "Not very good with people, am I?"

"No," she shook her head, "but you could learn."

"I suppose I could." I looked intently at her staring eyes. I did want her, or else why did I come to tell her that?

"So what you think? About us?"

I waved a hand at the pregnancy test on the counter. "You say you think you're pregnant. Uhm… is… there… anyone…?"

"No, Martin. Only _you_."

"Shouldn't you… take it? For if you are… best you should be avoiding shellfish, alcohol, get onto a regimen of pre-natal vitamins, exercise…"

"I will," she sighed, "I will. In the morning." Louisa squeezed me tight and buried her face in my chest. "Martin," she mumbled, "we need to sort things."

"Damn straight we need to! Louisa, I have to say…"

She looked up at me. "Martin I _do_ _love_ _you_. And I need help, from you, so we can…"

"Be together."

She nervously licked her lips. "That what you want?"

I sighed. "Why else would I have taken a five hour trip? Just to talk about your new school and this awful room you've let? God Louisa! I…"

"I love you Martin; I do, I really do."

"And," suddenly there was not much air in the horrid room, "I love you."

I kissed her softly and that said so much, for as _I _kissed her, _she_ kissed _me back!_ So we stood there hugging each other for I don't know how long and that was exactly the _right_ thing to do.


	2. Chapter 2

Reunion

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

I rolled over, or tried to, for there was a very warm, tall and naked man wrapped around me. I was also naked but that should make sense as we'd slept together. I carefully lifted his arm off my waist but that woke him.

"Louisa!" he started slightly and stared first at me then at the clock. "Eight AM."

"Sorry, Martin didn't mean to wake you, but I have to wee."

"Louisa, just a moment." He rubbed his face and I wondered what rude comment he might make about my having to use the loo. "You bought a pregnancy test and haven't used it yet. The… test, is most uhm accurate if the…" his eyes flicked my way, "_first_ urination of the day is used. The test uses hCG, human chorionic gonadotropin hormone, as the test agent and the first urination of the day increases the concentration in the uhm, output. "

"Oh." Martin Ellingham hadn't changed that much, from what the past few hours had shown me, although he was a little more demonstratively verbal than I recalled. He withdrew his hands from my waist and back as I scooted to the side and it figured that his first words this morning would be about using the toilet.

"Louisa, hCG is produced by a developing foetus." He crossed his arms across his nearly hairless chest almost in defense of his treatise. "Thought, you should know that."

His abashed look made me want to hug him, so I did and kissed his shoulder. "Martin, I… really don't know quite what to say to all that."

"I'm only telling you how to get the most accurate test results with the kit that you bought." He still lay there in his defensive posture, arms crossed with a grumpy look to his face.

I didn't recall him being this analytical before. "So now I'm a science experiment?" I started to slide out of bed. "Think I would have done better without you waking up."

"Slinking off?"

"Oh," I grinned and then poked him and hard. "You're making a joke."

He pursed his lips timidly, while rubbing his chest where my finger penetrated.

I laughed. "That's what _I_ asked _you_."

"Yep."

I relented from leaving and threw my arms around him and sighed into the hollow of his neck.

"Thought you needed to use the…"

"I do," I said while I put my knee over his thigh, feeling his hand creep around me, as he pulled the silky sheet and duvet higher. The bedclothes in this swanky Kensington hotel were a damn sight softer and higher quality than I'd been able to afford for my bedsit. The hotel clerk was not at all surprised when Martin checked in and brought me with him.

"Are you cold?"

"Just toasty." Being comfy was nice as my bedsit was either too hot or far too cold being at the whims of the landlord and temperamental steam heat. Martin started to stroke my back and I purred. For such a big man with large hands he was exceedingly gentle; or at least gentle with me.

"Thought you had to use the toilet."

"I'm fine." His hands were warm and their slow orbit at the small of my back sent delightful shivers through me from head to toe.

"Louisa?" His voice was thick.

"Martin?"

"Ahm…" he squirmed as I lay right next to him with practically no space between us.

"Problem?"

He sighed.

"What? Talk to me."

"I was thinking, well…" he whispered, "wondering… uhm. The odds of you," he cleared his throat, "our, _union_…"

"It's called _pregnancy_ Martin, if I am."

"Ahm, yes," we only, "had sex, what, two - three times?"

"Three, Martin. It was three; and _only_ three," I said sadly. I'd have preferred it had been a lot more than that but things, people mostly, kept getting in our way. "I thought you would recall that. And last night makes four."

He nodded and went on. "The average ejaculation produces around eighteen million sperm. A good percentage of those are flawed, bent tails and so forth, or poor swimmers."

"It only takes one Martin."

"Yes," he sighed. "Even Mark Mylow knew that."

"Mark? What's Mark got to do with anything?"

"Ahm… he doesn't. As I was saying…"

"Go on." I told him but I really didn't know why he was giving me a reproductive biology lesson.

"And we used protection, before."

I gritted my teeth for this was not exactly how I imagined our reunion. Should I tell him that the condoms I'd given him were old; really old? What if he didn't want a baby or worse didn't want a baby with me? What if… I felt a tear start and I flicked it away, pressing my eyes closed tightly, what if… he didn't want _me_, for the long term?

His gravelly voice went on. "Condom failure rates, if used correctly, can be as high as ten or twelve percent. That is a pregnancy resulting from consistent condom use may occur in twelve out of a hundred couples. But most of the failure rate is due to improper or sporadic use and not mechanical failure."

Now I was getting cross. "Martin! Stop! What are you saying? That you… don't…"

He kissed my forehead. "Louisa… I'm merely pointing out the extremely low chance that you are pregnant."

"So throwing up every morning the last few weeks might not mean anything? Feeling run down as well?"

"That may be due to… ahem, a change of diet." He fidgeted and his soft hands stopped moving across me, more waving in the air.

"So why oh why are my breasts sore and they are… bigger… and my nipples are sensitive. Surely you noticed?"

Martin looked warily at me and he blushed. "That might be due to… premenstrual hormones… or a change of city; you could be upset; you also mentioned that your new job is less than ideal."

I pushed him away and rolled onto my back, the sheets rubbing across my breasts and I grimaced. "Haven't had a period in quite a while either."

"As I said moving to London may have upset your cycles. And I did notice that your bust line is," he paused. "Something wrong?"

"No, Martin. Things are _bloody_ _wonderful_. What do _you_ think?" Now tears were actually flowing.

A thick-fingered hand (and I wondered how a doctor could be so good at surgery with such fingers) touched my face softly. "Louisa, I'm…" he wiped at my tears, "sorry, so, so sorry. No… I didn't mean to…"

He cradled my head while I silently cried and clung to him. Did he have to be so cold, callous and damned scientific?

He handed me a tissue. "Another sign of pregnancy can be heightened emotions."

I sat up and blew my nose.

Martin glanced up at me. "As well as engorged and more pronounced blood vessels," he ducked his head, "and…"

"And?"

He was starting at my bare breasts and they were bigger, I could tell that and I was sure he could see it. I had been planning to buy a larger size today, pregnant or not. I giggled in my head imaging Martin with me in a bra shop and that ridiculous scene cheered me slightly.

"Louisa," he cleared his throat, "perhaps you _should_…" he waved his hand, "use the home pregnancy test."

"So now you want me to?" I crossed my arms in irritation.

He sighed. "I couldn't help noticing… that, uhm, you… have… engorged nipples and they are darker and you have developed Montgomery's tubercles."

I looked down at my chest where he was staring and everything he said was true, and the tubercle thing I didn't even want to ask about. "_Martin_, must you be so bloody judgmental?" I screeched, finally reaching the edge.

"I'm… Oh God," he groaned. "God." he rolled away from me his back rigid.

I sighed. "Is the way it's going to be Martin? All the time?" I humphed. "Why in bloody hell did you come to London and find me, professing your love! Or was it all rot? Then you drag me to this posh hotel from my nice and tidy rooms, love me up very nicely, _thank you very much_, and then you treat me like…"

My voice failed in horror for what I'd just said took me back to when I was eleven and my mum and dad had the _final_ fight that split up our family. With a final 'eek' I collapsed onto the bed and pulled the fluffy pillow over my head.

Even Martin could tell that something was seriously amiss for the ringing silence was next taken up by a concerned male voice. "Louisa? Uhm, Louisa? Are you… no, you're not okay are you? Not alright and not at all." He peeled the pillow up as I watched with wary eyes. "Oh, there you are."

My panicky hand took his. "God, Martin… what _are we doing?_"

"Horrid. I don't think this is what we meant to do, is it?"

I sighed and wiped my nose on the wadded tissue in my fist. "No; God no."

He looked at me with concern. "Shall we start over? Louisa, I think you should take use the pregnancy test."

"I can do that and I'd better hurry. Martin, I do love you."

In the sweetest way he kissed my hand. "I will love you _always_."

"I… I don't want us to start out like my mum and dad fighting like cats and dogs."

He sighed as he rubbed my hand. "Totally unlike my parents who barely spoke."

I caught the pained look on his features. "It was like that? The Glasson's were yellers and of course your parents were quite the opposite; which figures." I could see he was retreating into some inner hell, so I kissed him on the mouth. "It's okay, Martin. They can't hurt you anymore."

He clutched me to him not quite like he was drowning but close. "And as for your two, Terry is lodging courtesy of Her Majesty and your mum is just where?"

"Spain - her and her boyfriend." I rubbed his back while he slowly relaxed. "They're gone, Martin. Now we just have to worry about each other."

I pulled away so he could see my face. "You mean that, Louisa?"

"I do, Martin. I really do. Now, if you don't mind, _this_ woman, whether _pregnant_ or _not_ really needs to get to a toilet."

He kissed me softly. "Don't move."

Now what? I shouldn't have worried as Martin turned to his side of the bed, pulled on his pyjama bottoms and padded to the wardrobe. He came back with a large white robe and slippers.

"Courtesy of the premises." He held it out. "Louisa?"

I rather self-consciously got out of bed, then he tucked me into the cotton robe and mules, firmly tying the waist belt for me.

"There."

"Thanks Martin." I took up my handbag and took out the test carton. "I'll just, use this, shall I?"

"That might be… indicated."

I sighed. "One way or the other."

He only nodded.

The bathroom was _huge_, larger than my bedsit. But the fixtures were pretty standard, if you didn't include the bidet, giant walk-in shower plus separate bathtub, dual sinks, and all crystal mirrors. I ripped the package open and spilled out the instructions. I read them quickly hopping from one foot to the other. Just then Martin started yelling through the door.

"How much time?"

"What?"

"Those tests usually take from three to five minutes. I've a watch out here."

I ignored him while he blabbed on.

"Let me know…"

I tuned him out and did what I had to and washed my hands.

"I've got my timer function set…"

He stopped yelling as I whipped the door open. "Go; three minutes."

""Three?"

"Well, actually more like two and a half."

"Right." He was breathless and his short hair was rumpled.

Looking at him I thought he was more excited than he had been last night, uhm, when we were together. Number four, I commented to myself. I sighed, just four.

"Alright?"

I took his arm as I leaned against the door frame and he took that as my answer.

"Where's the…"

"On the counter by the sink."

He nodded, holding his watch. "Two minutes."

"Martin, I don't actually want a countdown."

"Oh… right." He gulped. "Sorry."

My hand rose and smoothed his hair. "Martin."

"Louisa?"

"Nothing. Just hug me, if you would."

His arm went around me and I found myself shaking a little. I must be pregnant, although this morning I had no nausea, but after I ate that would likely hit. I reviewed what Martin had been talking about and it all matched the article I read last week. I must be pregnant, _we_ were pregnant, or it was _all_ just _nerves_?

Martin licked his lips. "Not quite."

"Right." Martin was Martin - like always - factual, rude at times, yet in private, sensitive - sort of - to me. But he was still prickly.

"Louisa, I just want to say something. Something you should know."

"Go on."

"When… I… go on… like I do… at times… I'm not _trying_ to be awful. I'm just giving you my… medical knowledge and I'm too factual. I certainly hope you know that; you should know it."

"Time?"

"Ten seconds or so. And when you left Portwenn, I was devastated - shattered."

I sighed. This morning had been the most I think we actually talked, even though part lecture. "Ready?"

He lowered the watch. "I… will you come back to Portwenn, anyway? No matter if…"

I nodded. "Oh Martin, I just want to be with you. And you _have_ changed."

He gulped. "Fenn said I had to change, if only a little."

I kissed his cheek. "Let's go see, shall we? It's just a little test after all."

He sighed. "Been a hell of a reunion."

I drew him into the bathroom. "Nervous?"

He nodded. "Not quite the visit I imagined."

"No, me either." Not exactly how I imagined an evening with Holly might go. I looked at Martin, his face tight-lipped in fear. Lord, the man _was_ afraid. Well, face it Louisa, aren't you afraid as well? "Martin let's look together, shall we?"

"Fine."

"Right." With his sweaty hand in mine I looked down at the home preg test. It didn't seem the plastic wand could be _that_ threatening but the _potential_ of change - _awesome_ change - housed within it was frightening.

There was an oval window on top of the wand with a word visible, and the word was…

_*** Pregnant ***_


	3. Chapter 3

Romance

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

Louisa sat at the café breakfast table like she'd been poleaxed staring down at a bowl of porridge with a side of fruit and whole wheat toast in a distracted gape. A lazy hand held a glass of orange juice, fresh-squeezed, and she looked at me while chewing on a piece of toast. "What?"

I had been looking fondly at her blue cardigan with a dark skirt. I remembered the top and the shirt underneath from this fall and I liked it; that is to say it reminded me of our good times, few that we had. What should I say to her? There were far too many facts in my head fighting to reach my vocal centers. Auntie Joan would say I had the Ellingham curse - we never say _anything_ - so I sighed.

"You're not…" her face fell.

"Not what?" I asked.

She chewed the toast slowly then sipped juice, slowly setting down the goblet. "Happy." Her beautiful face looked away while she crossed her arms and a flat-shod foot under the table started to waggle. "I can tell."

I reached across the small table and touched her elbow. "No! No…uhm…"

Louisa nervously dabbed at her lips with the napkin. "Can't say I'm _exactly_ happy either," she sighed. "Surprised - staggered - shocked actually."

I pursed my lips but all those words were still jammed up. "Erh," came out.

"I didn't think I'd ever be…" she sighed and waggled her bare left hand. "You know."

She meant unmarried and pregnant. "You're upset that you're…"

Her hand touched mine. "_We_ are, Martin."

"Yes. We're, uhm… are."

Louisa sighed. "What do you want to do? Get married?"

As she asked me that fateful question, I felt my throat close. "I suppose that's what couples do."

She leaned forward and asked softly, "That what you want to do? If we're a couple?"

"I have asked you, three times I believe, to, erh, marry."

She sagged a little. "We do love each other."

I nodded. "I do." Her hand rubbed the back of my hand and I took it reflexively. "Louisa, this is all very sudden, and I actually, uhm…"

"Oh." She sighed and then her voice rising, "You didn't actually _imagine_ you'd find a pregnant woman here in London who'd drag you onto the sheets, did you?" She grinned wickedly. "Twice at that."

"Louisa," I whispered, "_please_ lower your voice. And, we didn't actually know that you are, we are…" When we had stood in the loo and read the positive test results, she had led me back to the bed and there amidst tears and sighs had made love to me once more. The last time we'd dispensed with contraceptives as it seemed unnecessary and to be honest we had been eager.

"I know Martin." She sat back and sipped her tea.

"No nausea?"

She shook her head. "No, oddly enough," she said with a smile. "Maybe, just maybe, that part has been nerves."

"You'll need an exam, straight away, to confirm…"

She nodded. "The test." She finished her juice and looked sidelong at me.

"We should have your blood levels checked, for anemia and other things."

The home pregnancy test had unequivocally given a positive result. Louisa Glasson was pregnant and that meant … I would be a _father_. Now that was a word with a lot of mass to it; father. It was a word that described, in most cases, the head male of a household and the provider of the genetic material of any children. The only father I really knew was my own, Dr. Christopher Ellingham, and he was a sorry representative of that species in my book.

Bert Large, Portwenn's resident jack-of-all-trades and now restaurateur was also a father and I had seen him in his element, both nurturing and badgering his twenty-five-year-old son Al. They had an odd relationship, where Bert wanted Al to be beholden to him, but also for the boy to get-on. I sighed contrasting the two - Bert and Christopher. One was caring, if meddling, while the other… the feel of the crack of a belt or a table tennis bat across my backside, followed by being shoved into the closet under the stairs, echoed through my memory.

My dad reviled me at every turn, especially during an abortive visit to the village, and I had to sell my Kensington flat to leverage the cash to get rid of dear old dad. Louisa was giving me a funny look while I ruminated. "What?"

Louisa sat back in her chair. "Martin, I need air," she said in an odd tone.

I waved to the waiter to pay for the breakfast bill, but Louisa jumped up.

"Martin, I… don't take this the wrong way, but… I'm going out for a walk. Just me."

I know my face fell. "If that's what you want."

She belted her raincoat about herself, which still fit, but not for long given from her last menstrual period, she was about ten or eleven weeks pregnant. I hadn't noticed her abdomen swelling yet, but there were signs it wouldn't be long before it did so. "I do."

I nodded to her. "Fine." At this stage I thought it better to give her room.

"See you later." Louisa turned and walked from the café and it pained me to see her thus - walking off alone - and my heart actually hurt as it reminded me of her walking down Rosscarrock Hill the day of our wedding - our wedding which did not happen.

I watched stricken as she went away, turning and giving me a tiny wave at the door, as I finished my espresso.

"Sir, will there be anything else?" asked the waitress who'd appeared from nowhere.

"No. I'll charge it to our room."

She nodded. "Your lady friend okay? I passed her in the corridor and she looked…"

"_None_ of your business."

"Well, it may be none of my business sir, but when a _lady_ leaves a _gentleman_ at the breakfast table and she is shedding tears in the process, _something_ is amiss." She frowned. "But yes, as you say, _none_ of my business."

I closed my eyes against the hurt. _Martin, you bloody fool, you can still lose her. _"Check then."

The waitress placed the pad on the table and I scribbled on it. The woman stood there meekly and I towered over her when I stood up. "Did, you, ahem, notice where she went?"

She smiled. "Out the main door to the street and to the right. And sir…"

"Yes?"

"She was walking quickly. I'd not dally if I was you, my tall friend."

That advice I took and found myself stalking Louisa's retreating back through the streets of Kensington dodging buses and taxis and gaggles of tourists gawking on the pavement at the neighborhood. I managed to keep track of Louisa's progress by the flipping of her pony tail as she moved quickly across streets and down blocks. I had to hustle to keep up, let alone catch her, wondering if this was the thing to do. Finally she paused at a shop window on Holland Street and I was able to stop my headlong pace.

She turned her lovely head as she must have heard my characteristic footstep on the pavement. "Oh, it's you."

"Sorry, Louisa I was… concerned… for your welfare."

"Thought you might be," Louisa turned and faced the window. She didn't seem cross, just a bit distant, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes wet. She dabbed at her eyes with as tissue as I watched.

"I know this change of status is all a shock and if I've upset you…"

"Oh, Martin, look there." She pressed her nose to the shop window.

The shop displayed mannequins featuring maternity clothing, from nightdresses to business suits, and arrayed at their feet were rompers for babies and such. I am no fashion maven but from what I could see it seemed that current maternity wear was to expose as much skin as possible and cover what was left with skin-tight fragments. "I… didn't know, uhm, you were going shopping."

She sighed and took my hand. "I wasn't, exactly."

A woman pushing a pram with a child in it and a much smaller child buckled across her chest bustled past and I had to scamper quickly to avoid being pushed into traffic.

Louisa chuckled. "Careful Martin. I thought you were going for a ride. Bit of a family there."

Family. Did I know what a family was? Staring at the stuffed tummies of the plaster figures in the store it was obvious that someone knew what it meant. Did I?

She tapped on my head. "You in there?"

I sighed. "Louisa, I'm certain you recall the day after our, uhm, the uhm, concert."

"The day Holly came to visit and hurt her back," her voice dropped a little, as it wasn't the happiest of days.

"Yes, that much is true. I wish to tell you something; something it pains me to say."

Louisa swung around to face me. "Oh God," she said guardedly.

"God what?"

She sighed. "Go on." She was biting her lip now.

"I came to see you that day."

"Oh? Before Holly got hurt?"

"Yes… I, uhm…"

A man pushed past with a handcart and almost flattened the two of us. "Get out the bloody way! Tossers!"

Louisa pulled me into the store alcove. "Not exactly the best spot for a heart-to-heart is it? You know what? Let's go to the park - Holland Park."

"You wanted to shop."

A slender hand patted her waistline. "It will keep." She tugged me along to the park and sat me down on a bench near the football pitch. She smoothed her coat then twisted towards me. "Martin, now."

"Now?"

"You said you had something to tell me." She patted my knee. "Hope it's not too horrible."

I sighed and air hissed from my nose. "That day…"

"After the concert. That was quite a procession we led up the hill with Holly on that door, wasn't it?"

Her friend Holly the cello player had injured her back in a fall and had to evac'ed from the harbor rocks by four fishermen up to Louisa's cottage. "Louisa, I need to tell you that…"

"Go on; all ears."

"I came to your cottage that day. Knocked you up."

"What?"

"I mean… I _knocked_ on your door."

"Oh," she grinned. "The other bit was the next night; the night we got engaged."

I sighed. "_Perhaps_, but a sonogram should establish progress of the uhm… foetus, and the _actual_ date of conception. But I came to your cottage and I wanted to… to… say…"

Louisa waited while I waffled about and stammered to and fro. She took my hand and it may not have helped me but it clearly calmed her. "Go on."

"I… I came to… to… say that I was sorry. I went to see you to apologize for being horrible, insensitive and cruel the previous night. You were trying to be…

"Affectionate, Martin."

"Yes, and I came to your cottage…"

"So what happened? Was I out?"

"No," I sighed. "You were there, ironing shirts and so forth. I saw you through the window."

"Must have had the radio on. I swear I didn't hear you."

"You did."

"I did?"

Palmer sweating broke out even more on my hands, feet, armpits and back. "I… bolted. Ran off like a nervous schoolboy as soon as I rapped on the door."

"Oh." Her hand was warm and comforting in the chill air, "dear." We sat there, me miserable, anxious and tense, while Louisa put her arm around me. Her hair smelled comforting. "I see."

"If I'd had some backbone, it all might have been different."

"Huh. Well, I thought that might have been more earth shattering actually." Her voice fell, "And if you'd had more backbone this might have happened a year or more ago, although you've got more guts than most men, being able to cut open living bodies."

I sighed for that was the slightest of one of my many peccadillos. "You're likely right."

"Not _that_ bad, Martin." She pecked my cheek.

"I… wanted to tell you; come clean. The Ellingham's; we, most of us, not Auntie Joan, tend to be… taciturn."

She patted my hand. "You don't exactly _waste_ words. But what if you had rapped on my door and I answered?"

I shrugged then ducked my head and in keeping with her pronouncement stayed quiet.

Louisa sat there holding me for a while murmuring, "It's alright." Finally she said, "Martin, I have to tell you that I haven't exactly been honest with you."

I nodded. "Go on."

"The day…" she took a deep breath, "of the wedding, I'd been… having… second thoughts for quite a while. Pauline, Fenn, and Isobel nattering on about the two of us got me stirred up; at least that's what I thought."

My heart sank. "So… this all been some sort of a…" I waved my hand.

"Mistake? No, no, that's wrong, I think." She nestled against me as a cold wind blew on us. "I was thinking when Isobel was in labor that I wanted to tell you right then, about the wedding and my fears… _about_ us."

"Difficult. Not exactly a perfect day was it?"

She kissed my cheek. "I had fancied you for quite a while." She bit her lip. "And we were together, at least for a little time."

I sighed for what we had wasn't enough. "Louisa, you could have talked, to me, at any time."

"And when I left… home; you see the villagers were really, really tough; wagging tongues, snide comments."

"You wanted to call it off ahead of time." I looked at her sharply.

"Didn't you? You jilted me while I was jilting you." Her lip trembled. "I was so nervous the day of Pauline actually asked me if I was having a breakdown."

I sighed. "Horrible mess."

"Really, really stressed, you know?" She glanced sidelong at me. "I expect you know about that."

I clapped my lips tight and let the silence grow. Finally I had to say, "Yes, I was. I am." The wind blew and Louisa shivered. "We should get you home."

She sighed and took my arm as we stood. "About that… just where is _home_, Martin?"

"I thought you'd come back to Portwenn. You know; biscuit-tin town? Smells of fish."

"Thanks for that Martin. I do recall the town of my birth and upbringing." She laughed. "You made a joke."

I took a step and she followed. "Do you want to go back - to the hotel? We should."

"What I want Martin is to find a loo."

"Nausea?"

"No. Just too much tea and the wind is cold."

"Right. Cold weather can reduce sweating and increase urinary output, especially when combined with caffeine. You need to avoid caffeine from here on out, as well as other stimulants, plus depressants, such as alcohol. Uhm, you haven't been drinking have you?"

She sighed. "Figures you would mention _urine_. Whatever will you be like when the baby's born?" Louisa hugged my arm. "I suspect you will be an interesting father."

"Uhm, Louisa, I really haven't the faintest knowledge of fatherhood - that is how to _be_ a father."

"You can learn," she said staring at me while the winter wind whipped hair across her eyes. She pushed the strands back. "And I'll learn to be a mum. Now, I think I _am_ getting cold, just like you are."

It was true what she'd said for I'd dashed out without an overcoat. "I suppose I could. Now about the other thing - back to the hotel. We'll get you warmed up."

She smiled and kissed my cheek. "Thanks Martin. You do want to take care of me, but I am perfectly capable. I'm pregnant Martin, _we're_ pregnant, and no I've not had any wine or beer since I came to London. Morning nausea wasn't very welcome after drinking. So no; not much… really."

I nodded and guided her out of the park and we returned to the hotel.

Reception was warm and Louisa rapidly went in search of the washroom. I stood there rubbing my arms until she returned and while waiting for the lift she took my hand. "God Martin! Your hand is like ice."

I practically threw her hand away. "Sorry. No need to trouble yourself."

"Your hand is cold, but I'll warm it."

"I'll be fine."

"Quit acting like I'm made of china, right?" She tucked my arm under her breasts. "I won't be big for months yet."

Her fingers warmed mine. "Still, you have to be careful. Shellfish should be avoided, plenty of veg and fruit, light exercise, pre-natal vitamins, a good amount of dairy. Light exercise to maintain cardio-vascular conditioning."

Louisa stared at me for a moment. "You're _quite_ the romantic, you know."

"Louisa, I'm only…"

"Oh my God! Is that you Ellingham?" A rather shrill voice penetrated my ears like an ice-pick.

I'd not heard the voice for nearly fifteen years and turning my head only confirmed that my memory was right. "Edith," I said as I saw a thin orange-haired sprite of a woman approaching us like a destroyer with a wave foaming before her bow.

"Who?" Louisa muttered.

"Well, Martin! What are you doing here?" Dr. Edith Montgomery fairly shouted and heads turned. "Taking a break from surgery? I thought you'd be doing Saturday rounds on the poor sods you've hacked to pieces!" Edith bounced over and hugged me fiercely.

"Thought you were still in Canada?" I asked, very surprised to see her but not surprised to see the impractical footwear she wore - something in black with rhinestones.

"No, no. Gave up that. I'm here for a meeting in Town. Mostly doing a bit of gynie and fertility out Truro way." She scanned Louisa up and down. "Hello! I'm an old school mate of Martin's. Edith Montgomery, Doctor." She stuck out a skinny hand tipped with finely polished nails.

"Louisa Glasson, Teacher," said Louisa and I gave her credit for standing her ground for Edith Montgomery could be forceful and off-putting to most women; I could see that much about her had not changed. Louisa shook her hand and I could see Edith wince at the grip as Louisa squeezed her hand tightly.

"I suppose Martin's mentioned me?" Edith said, trying to keep smiling.

"No, I haven't," I said and the hurt of so long came back in a rushing headache. My words stopped Edith in her tracks. I'd not forgiven her for bolting long ago and I was not about to let her even think there was anything still between us.

"Oh." Edith practically deflated as my words sunk home.

Louisa turned a questioning eye to me. "Martin?"

"Edith this is my…" I paused. What were we? Was Louisa my fiancée? We'd broken our wedding date and she'd given me back the ring; my grandmother's ring. I was all too aware of the warm shoulder pushed against mine, the smell of Kenzo Flower, and the scent of female flesh; flesh that now bore a foetus with half of my genes. "My _partner_."

"Oh?" said Edith, "Not very conventional are you Ellingham? Thought you'd go for marriage, the whole thing, considering you once wanted to marry _me_. Although God only knows how any marriage of ours would have turned out." She looked up at Louisa with a mischievous smile. "Dragged me down to Cornwall to visit his aunt and uncle; Jill and Paul was it? I rather thought he saw his aunt as a mother figure."

"Joan and Phil," corrected Louisa. "Aunt Joan. Joan Norton's still there. Uncle Phil's dead."

Edith cocked her head. "Right. Well, I think I'll be off then. See you around Ellingham?"

I took a deep breath. "Goodbye." I swept Louisa's hand into mine and took her into the waiting lift.

"Bye," said Louisa slowly as the door whisked closed.

An uncomfortable silence settled in the humming lift. "Medical school," Louisa said after a few floors had passed.

"Yes."

"You took her down to meet Joan and Phil." Her voice was frosty.

"I did."

"She went to Canada." She fiddled with her handbag in agitation.

Just as the lift stopped. "Our floor."

Louis stepped out then turned and frowned at me. "Marriage."

"I wanted to, yes. Long ago," I sighed.

"Hmm." Her handbag orbited ominously.

I sighed. "Louisa, it was…"

She touched my lips with warm fingers. "Shh. No."

The lift door started closing and I held it open while the buzzer sounded. "I should explain…"

"Step out, Martin." She pulled me into the corridor and I meekly followed her to the hotel room.

The keycard worked the first time and Louisa went in and I expected a row. She stripped off her raincoat while I inspected the thermostat, playing for time.

"Edith."

"That's her name. Had no idea she was back in the UK."

"Hm," she pursed her lips. "I don't think I should have her as an OB do you?"

I shook my head. "Definitely not."

I went to the bathroom to relieve myself, all too glad to remove myself from her nervous look.

"Martin?" she called from the bedroom.

I whisked the door open. "Yes?"

Louisa Glasson stood there in front of a full length mirror, turned to the side, with a hand pressed against her belly. "Showing yet?"

Women were sensitive to comments about weight and size, especially when pregnant, so I demurred. "Perhaps not."

"No." She smiled at me. "I do."

"Do what?"

"I do want to come back to Portwenn, but _only_ if I can teach. I've rented my house to the new Head of the school so I expect I'll need somewhere to live." She grinned. "What will I do about that?"

My breath caught in my throat. "You can live with me, if you want to."

She smiled. "Preserve the romance, Martin."

I'd have to try to do so, despite being an Ellingham. "Louisa, will you come to Portwenn and live with me?"

"I've been waiting for you to ask. Yes, Martin, I _will_!" She ran across the room and threw herself into my arms.


	4. Chapter 4

Return

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

The train pulled into Bodmin Parkway Station and I sighed loudly, loud enough for Martin to hear.

"Problem?" He'd lifted my case out of the train closet while reaching for his own.

"No!" I shouted reaching for handle. "No! Let _me_ get that!"

"Louisa, I'm just…" he started then whispered to me, "_Look! You shouldn't be carrying heavy object_s!"

"Martin, I'm not an invalid! I can carry my own case, besides it's on wheels."

"All the same." He pushed my hand away and taking the suitcase stepped towards the coach door. "I left my car in the car park."

Martin had been like this since Saturday morning, all drippy with treacle and he was getting on my nerves. "I won't break!"

"Watch the steps then. It's rained overnight and the platform may be slick underfoot. Watch for the…"

I raised a hand to my forehead and rubbed it. "Martin, just stop it! You've been all… _weird_!" I struggled into my raincoat, flinging my handbag about like a bludgeon. I felt it hit him and he grunted. "Sorry."

"Louisa, I am only concerned and wish to ensure that you are safe… as well as the uhm…"

I ignored him and stepped out on the platform at Bodmin Parkway and though wet the flagstones weren't slick at all.

Martin clattered down the stairs and launched himself to my elbow. "Careful, puddle there and there."

I gave him a cold look. "Martin, are you going to be like this for the next six and half months?"

"Thirty weeks, Louisa. A lunar month is 28 days which is roughly four-and-a-third weeks, so closer to seven months. Assuming you are ten weeks expecting."

"All right! All right!" I yelled. "Martin,uhm, sorry. A bit on edge."

He nodded. "The car is just…" he pointed with his head and we walked to the small car park where the Lexus sat with a spatter of rain on it. He swiftly dropped the cases into the boot then, as I was opening the side door he scrambled over and grabbed the door from my hand. "Let me."

"Oh!" This was a side of Martin Ellingham that took some getting used to. I didn't have to ask for a thing since yesterday that he wasn't _right there_. I had to lock the bathroom door so I could use the toilet in peace. But wasn't it nice, _just a little_ to be pampered? _Sometimes_ was that answer. Pampering was one thing but as he took my elbow and practically lowered me into the leather seat of his car, I twitched his hand away. Then we got in a tug-of-war over the seatbelt. "Got it!" I growled at him.

"Louisa, now that you are pregnant…"

"Martin I _always_ wear a seatbelt."

"Yes, yes, that's good, but when in a car, and expecting, put the seat belt low across the hips, below the abdomen, well across your pelvis, with the shoulder strap across your chest, between…"

I buckled the belt, settled the thing as directed. "Across here?" I grabbed his hand and held it to my sore baps and he recoiled. I couldn't resist catching him out once in a while, as he was so shy.

His eyes practically burst from his head. "Uhm, erh, yes."

I closed the door, narrowly avoiding catching his fingers glaring at him as he got in. "Martin, we _need_ to talk."

"Uhm, yes."

"One - I am _not sick_ or an _invalid_ or some _fragile bag of soap bubbles_ that you have to cart around on a _feather pillow!_ Two - as you may know from _years_ of medical training, pregnancy is a _perfectly normal_ _condition_! Three - I do not need you to be… uhm, so _bloody_ hyper attentive and all smarmy!"

"Louisa, I'm not being smarmy! I'm trying to be nice!"

"What you're doing is trying my patience!"

That shut him up and so I went on. "I'm going to try and get that job at the school, and we can try living together in your cottage, and we'll just have to see how it goes. Right?"

"I did ask you to move in," he sniffed.

"There is that." I sighed. He did ask me to and I wanted to. "Being thirty-seven, on my own, and pregnant in a bed-sit didn't seem like much fun."

"No. And foetal loss in the first trimester can be caused by a fall and even feeling unwell can be a sign of trouble. You mentioned you have a headache. Do you have chills or a fever?"

He touched my head and I slapped his hand away. "No Martin! I just have a headache, alright?"

Martin digested that then started up again. "You're certain you feel generally fine."

"What I'm feeling Martin is a general pain in the arse and it happens to be sitting on my right? Got it?"

He started the car and we headed for Portwenn.

Packing up my paltry possessions in the grotty bed-sit took all of an hour and then Martin called a removal service to collect the few boxes to have them sent to Portwenn.

"I feel like I'm running off," I said to Martin.

"No, it's not like that at all."

"Is it Martin? Is it? Skedaddle from the village and now London? I'll have to quit England entirely if I keep this up; burning my bridges left and right."

He sealed the last carton of books with packing tape. "You're joking." Other cartons were filled with clothing, shoes, and oddments.

"I'm not."

"And your school, the London one?"

She sighed. "Bit of a lost cause. Look we travel today, I can take Monday as a personal day, chat with the school Head Teacher, and hopefully…"

"Hopefully?"

"I _need_ to work, Martin."

"You don't have to, you know."

"Martin, I'd go stark raving bonkers at home all day." My hand stole down to my belly in that tender way that expectant mums did; a gesture I used to find so pretentious. "And… when the time comes… I'll take half-term off."

"End of June." He sighed and inspected me. "Sure you're alright with this?"

I stepped over a carton, seeing Martin wince as I did so. "I'll have to be."

He held my arm. "Careful there."

My lip twitched nervously. "I'll be fine."

Now that same lip was dancing as the sign at the top of the village welcomed us to Portwenn. I rolled the window down and got a big lung of cold salt air. It was only then that I felt that _this_ _was_ _reality_ and that my London adventure was in some odd alternate universe worthy of Dr. Who. I waved to Penhale sitting in his jeep on the verge and saw his jaw drop a mile when recognized me. "Now," I sighed, "I feel I can breathe, really breathe."

Martin grunted. ""It's a small village, Louisa."

"I know," I said. "I know."

"Miss Glasson's back then?" I heard Pauline ask Martin not ten minutes after we arrived at his cottage. I'd barely put my feet up on the sofa when there came a knock at the kitchen door. Pauline Lamb stood there in her usually eclectic finery, wrapped in a parka.

"Hi Pauline," I called to her as I moved into the kitchen. "And Al."

Pauline's eyes bugged out. "My gosh, Louisa, this is a surprise! You okay? Nobody had heard a thing from you at all!" We was worried; all of us!"

"The whole village wondered what was goin' on," Al mumbled. "And Pauline's been buggin' the Doc somethin' fierce to call you."

"No I haven't," muttered Pauline. "But I shoulda'."

Martin spoke. "Ahem, Louisa is fine, Pauline. And yes she is here," Martin told her. Then he groaned. "Oh God."

Standing behind Pauline was Bert Large and Penhale. "Bert, Joe, hi!" I waved.

Joe chuckled. "I was tellin' Doctor Ellingham that without you Portwenn School… it's not the same, what I been hearing. Real glad you're here. You stayin' Louisa?"

"Louisa! You _are_ back!" Bert chuckled as he winked. "I was saying to Al just the other day, that our Miss Glasson would come back, uhm, _someday_." Then he got very serious. "You're staying right? The school's in a helluva mess from what I been hearing like Joe said. Oh, and these are for you." He held out a bunch of flowers. "They're a day old and not that great lookin'; best I could do on short notice."

Pauline said to Martin, "She's stayin' right? Or is this just a visit? You okay with this Doc? I know you been very sad, well as much sadness as you show compared to your normal look."

"Ah, yes, Louisa has come for a visit," Martin said warily.

I smiled broadly. "Actually I hope to be moving back."

"Oh?" said Penhale. "London not to your liking, then? Musta been all that crime, and pickpockets, and crime…" Martin was glowering at him so Joe shut up.

I chuckled. "No, no. Nothing like that at all." I took the flowers. "Thanks Bert."

Bert smiled. "It was Al's idea. And I'd planned on having the restaurant closed today, but we could be open, right Al? If you wanted to come by for dinner; sort of a welcome back dinner thingy."

Martin exhaled loudly. "No! Now if you don't mind, you're letting all the heat from my house, standing there yammering away with the kitchen door propped open. Now shoo. Go away!" He clapped his hands at them until they left then he sagged against the door.

"Well," I held the flowers. "That was nice. Might you have a…"

Martin went to the pantry and returned with a carafe which he gave to me. "Sorry about them."

"Nothing to be sorry for Martin. They're just being… you know, neighborly."

"More like nosy Parkers. Gossip travels in this village like a bush fire! Athlete's feet travels nearly as fast in the community!"

I arranged the flowers, most of which were sad looking. "I suppose the whole village knows by now." And I wasn't quite sure what I thought about it. Moving back to Portwenn was one thing, but the other… thing… that will be a bombshell.

Martin peered at his watch. "Been fifteen minutes, so I'd say _yes_."

"People talk, Martin." As I said it the room sort of swam about and I put out a hand to steady myself on a chair. "The way you say it, almost makes me think you don't like being here." That's when the world went very fuzzy.

Next a voice was yelling into my ear and I could almost answer through the cobwebs.

"Louisa! Louisa! My god! Louisa?" the voice said.

A hand was pawing at my neck and I tried to wave it off. "Uh, what?" I managed to get a word out.

An agitated Martin was peering at me and I felt the kitchen chair hard at my back and bottom. "Martin?"

"You passed out, I believe. Did you feel faint at all?" He peered into my eyes. "You slumped over."

"Sorta," I tried to stand but he pushed me back down.

"Stay. Don't move." He left and came back with his medical case. "Your blood pressure may be low."

"I did eat breakfast, you saw me."

"Shush." He plied his doctor's tools. "Hm… Blood pressure and pulse are normal."

"I didn't eat much of my sandwich on the train. I just had the salad."

He sighed. "Louisa, you may need to eat more frequent meals and more substantial ones. This event is likely due to low blood sugar." He took my temperature. "Normal."

"Sorry Martin. Maybe I haven't been eating as much as I might have."

"Oh?" He turned to the cabinet and came back with a glass of milk and a plate of digestives, chocolate ones. "I don't normally prescribe biscuits but the carbohydrates will quickly be absorbed increasing your blood sugar. We should get your notes sent down."

"I'd gained a few pounds is all and maybe, I was… not eating as much as usual. And wouldn't that be awkward to have you as my doctor?" I nibbled on a biscuit.

He sighed. "Louisa, you must, _must_ maintain adequate nutrition, whether you are pregnant or not, but since you _are_…" He sighed. "There should be opening in Truro, if you are staying. Would be best to keep your pre-natal care in the same group as the delivery."

"Delivery? What delivery?" said an older woman's voice and there was Joan Norton peering in the door. "Louisa! My God I was so glad to hear that you've come back!"

"Hi Joan, it's really nice to see you!" I tried to stand but Martin pushed me back into the wooden chair.

"Let me give you a hug!" she put her strong arms around me and kissed my cheek. "How long are you staying? Hello Martin."

"Auntie Joan," Martin grunted.

"So nice you've come back for New Years! Perhaps you can cheer up my nephew. He's been a real gloomy Gus since you left Portwenn."

"I uhm," I looked at Martin who had a grim look on him, "I can try."

"So how long are you staying? You didn't say," Joan asked. "And Martin was saying something I didn't quite catch as I barged in. What was that about?" Joan went on in a rush, "And I've brought hotpot. I've got it out in the truck, along with Buddy."

"Oh, Joan, isn't it a little cold out there?" I said, "Won't your dog get cold?"

"Nonsense. Buddy will be fine - fur coat and all." She smiled, but it turned into a frown as Martin had a guarded look and I was twisting my hands. "Something's going on, isn't there? I may be an old woman but I'm not totally senile, just yet." She pulled out a kitchen chair and sat heavily. "Now, I'm not moving until you come clean."

Martin stood with his back to the sink and watched me as I looked back. We'd not discussed how or what to say about our circumstances and given it was only a day since we knew about the baby (and when did my _pregnancy_ turn into _the baby_?) we'd barely come to terms with the reality.

Martin sighed while I pulled my hands apart and sat on them to stop fiddling. "I…" my voice failed.

Martin was slightly better. "Louisa has…"

Joan looked from him to me and back. "Stop."

"We haven't said anything," Martin said.

Joan drummed on the scarred wooden table and looked at us suspiciously. "That's what worries me. This isn't like you." She sighed. "No it _is_ like Marty, but it's _not_ like you, Louisa Glasson. Now," she stood, "I'm going to hobble out to my truck and get the hotpot." She put a hand on the door knob. "Perhaps you two will get some backbone and come up with a story you are willing to share."

In the vacuum of Joan's departure Martin sagged. "What do… we…"

"God, I don't know."

"Just that you've come to interview…"

"At the school."

"Might work."

I bit my lip. "It's true. Stu McKenzie said he'd set it up."

"Yes, but what about… the uhm… and us?"

"I'm staying here; we should tell her that."

"Better than the pub," he sneered.

"I could… if you wanted me to."

"No! No! Stay…"

The door flew open and Joan bustled in. "Cold out there," she said and hooked the door closed, but Buddy managed to sneak inside. "Buddy followed me, didn't you boy?"

The brown and white terrier wagged his tail happily then sat by her feet.

Martin yelled, "Out! Get that thing out of here!"

Joan laughed. "Oh, Marty, it's just a dog and a little one at that."

"We'll he's not welcome!" Martin blustered. "Filthy animal."

Joan pushed Buddy into the pantry and closed the door. "There. Happy?"

"Now he'll be _contaminating_ my pantry!"

Joan went to the cooker and switched it on. "We'll just heat that up." She smiled at me. "If Martin won't tell me, perhaps you will, Louisa. How long are you staying in the village?" She hugged me again. "More important, how are you? You look like you've been feeding well."

I made questioning faces to Martin over Joan's shoulder and he rolled his eyes in return. He silently made the words _I don't know._

I grinned at her ruddy face when she released me from the hug. Joan did know how to hug, so unlike the rest of the Ellingham's. But I'd been trying to teach Martin and things were progressing. "I'm fine, Joan. Been pretty well."

Joan grinned. "Now that wasn't hard." Her face changed though. "I see two suitcases. Uhm, you're not staying in the pub, are you?"

"Uhm, Louisa's funds are…"

"Tight," I threw out while fiddling with my hair.

"And… she…. I thought, we thought… she might stay here," Martin managed to say.

Joan rolled her eyes. "Oh Marty you have the same look you had when you tried to sneak that stray dog into your room. You must have been about nine, I think. I am delighted that Louisa is staying in your cottage."

I chuckled. "Martin had a dog?"

"Oh, no not really! Poor little thing was a pup from the Pratt's farm next door - got lost. He went back the next day, but puppy had worms; left an awful mess on his bedroom rug. Remember Marty?" Joan laughed. "He's not liked dogs since."

"Oh," I said. "Didn't know that." It explained so much about Martin Ellingham, MD.

"Ever since he's had a thing about dogs and germs."

Martin clearly was trying to turn invisible and I had to say something. "Joan, it's like this…"

Joan slid the casserole into the oven. "Now in thirty minutes we can eat. Do you have salad and some bread?"

Martin nodded, clearly afraid to speak. "Fridge and bread box."

"Good." Joan started bustling about setting the table for three. "I know you prefer fish Martin, but the hotpot is chicken, and no it's not one of layers. The butcher had a special last week."

Martin sighed deeply and obviously wanted to be somewhere else. I took the plunge. "Joan," I said. "There's something I, uhm, we want to tell you."

"Probably earth shattering," she mumbled. "You were dating, sort of, after great delay, got engaged, and you had a wedding, but chalk and cheese that you are, you didn't get married. End of story." She grimaced. "Sorry Louisa, that's the way it is. You've clearly come back for a visit and that's fine. I've missed you dear. Can't truly say how much Martin missed you, but I have - the whole village has missed you." She came over and patted my hand. "That it?"

Martin shook his head, no.

I stood up and walked to Martin, who looked so, so afraid and my heart ached for the truth that Joan had just spoken, at least the truth as she knew it. I took Martin's hand and he hungrily grabbed my fingers. "Joan, Martin came up to London and asked me to come back."

"Oh? Amazing; good for you Marty!"

"So here's the thing. I did, well, obviously, I _am_ here…"

Joan looked from me to Martin and back. "Oh."

I had to pause as I felt a small tear come to one eye. "London was too hard - too lonely. And…"

"Oh, Louisa, we're all your friends here in Portwenn, you know that. I'm sorry that London didn't work out." Joan nodded. "Portwenn is your home, I know that. You grew up here."

Martin squeezed my fingers. "Joan, I asked Louisa to come because…"

"Because?" Joan asked and her eyes were wide.

"Uhm…" Martin stopped. "Auntie Joan you know I'm not very good…"

"At talking yes. Not an earth shattering admission but you've always been that way." She sighed. "Since I got here you two have been dancing around like a fish on a line. Now," she pointed a finger at us. "Get on with it. I'd like to be able to eat dinner without worrying that something awful has happened. Is it? Awful? That it?"

"No," said Martin.

I looked at Martin and he pursed his lips. "Right," I said to him. "So here's the thing… it's not a very big thing… that is it's not very big at the moment."

"My God!" Joanie sprang up. "You're sick, that it? Oh Louisa, I am _so_ sorry. What can I do?" Joan swept me into her arms, half sobbing.

"Uhm, Auntie Joan, it's not like that at all," said Martin.

"Oh Joan…" I whispered into her ear. "I'm not sick. I'm pregnant!" As my tears mingled with hers and Martin hugged both of us, I felt that Portwenn magic had truly brought me home.


	5. Chapter 5

Refusal

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

Louisa was moody; even I could see that. She brushed her hair with swift motions for a few strokes, stopped and sighed then started all over again. She gazed at my reflection in the cloudy wall mirror I'd found in the shed. "My God I am knackered. Only worked half a day for a week and I feel like a lorry's run me over."

Louisa had been hired by the Portwenn School as a half-day teacher practically the moment she walked in. Now she was fatigued; I added that to the list. It was as I feared. She'd wear herself out trying to be superwoman. I stopped tying my tie. "Pregnancy can cause fatigue. The growing foetus, and especially the placenta, puts tremendous strain on the system in the first trimester. As well as the expected caloric demands there are any number of maternal and foetal hormones that are acting at this time, and those go on straight to delivery and beyond. Take the growth inherent in the uterus, breast tissues, and changes in hemodynamics and fluid levels…"

Louisa jumped to her feet and faced me with a snarl. "It's about what I expected Martin! You keep _going on _like a _bloody encyclopedia_ about this thing!" Her hands flew out. "I am so tired, so damn tired! And speaking of strain the new Head Master is under strain and I can see that! The man is creepy, always skulking about, lurking in corridors, and muttering under his breath! None of the staff like him, the parents abhor him, and all the kids make fun of him behind his back! From what Stacey the secretary says the budgets are in a frightful mess and supplies are _always_ lacking. The man has completely ruined my school!"

Taken aback by the change of subject I stayed silent and let her run on. I'd expected this outburst as I could see that Louisa was terribly tired and when she was tired, she either yelled or cried. This was a yelling time. I had examined Mr. Strain and yes he was an odd duck, but not that odd compared to some of patients. He had increased blood pressure, hemorrhoids, fallen arches, and unremitting constipation. Plus he ground his teeth and had insomnia. He also was sensitive to others and I suspected her had raging paranoia so I could see that he could be difficult to work for.

Louisa went on enraged. "Plus the man has my house; leased the bloody thing until July! What am I supposed to do with that! You tell me!"

"But you're living here. You don't _need_ your cottage."

She plumped heavily on a stool salvaged from Joan's spare room. "Most of my clothes are in transit somewhere, my new job is crap, and not even my body is mine! Look - here comes my belly!" She pressed her skirt flat and even sitting down I could see the protuberance of her growing uterus. "Not a blessed thing is mine!" She stopped and wiped her eyes. "Not even my _own_ body!"

We'd asked my Aunt Joan to keep quiet about her pregnancy, and I wondered why we had done so. "Louisa…" Soon enough the fait accompli would be more than obvious.

"Martin! If you give me another medical lecture I will strangle you and feed you to the seagulls!"

That stopped me. "You think I lecture you."

"You do - all the time." She blew her nose loudly. "There goes my makeup." She dabbed at her cheeks and crushed a tissue against her face.

"I…" that made me think. I _had_ been using a hectoring tone. "Louisa, when I asked you to come back, it wasn't because I knew you were pregnant; far from it." I choked on the words. "And if you can't see that… well…"

"Well what? What Martin? I'm trying very hard to play house," now her face was streaked with even more tears. "But is it working out?" Her scared face looked up at me. "Are _we_ working out?"

I checked my watch as the morning was moving on. "What do you want to do?"

That stopped her crying and she looked at me warily. "What do _you_ want to do Martin? Sorry, I know I been complaining a helluva lot."

I heard the front door open and Pauline Lamb came clumping in downstairs like a freight train. "Morning Doc! Morning Louisa!" she called up the stairs.

Since she had moved in with Al Large in the decrepit building his father was trying to turn into a restaurant she had become punctual and I was not used to that. Bert had told me that Al had wanted to go on holiday to Africa but he had implored his son to stay and help with this business venture. Perhaps that was why Pauline seemed to be far more energetic than her usual lazy state. Was she in love? I touched Louisa's wet cheek. "Louisa… if I upset you…"

"If… you… upset… me?" she said through gritted teeth. "I think you had better go Martin. Your receptionist is waiting."

I took leave after lightly kissing her cheek as she worked on repairing her makeup.

"So Doc, I guess you're pretty happy that Miss Glasson is back in Portwenn?" Pauline asked as she printed out the morning schedule. "You was… sorta…"

"Pauline, none of your business! Now - patients?"

"Mum, I mean, Mrs. Lamb about her bloating, _again_, Eddie Rix called and asked about a burn he's got on his leg, I put him at 9:30. Then Chippy Miller's got an ear infection he thinks, Alan Armstrong needs his diabetes meds checked up…" she nattered on while I thought of the tempest upstairs. "Bert thinks he needs anti-depressants, that Wenn woman is bring Theo in…"

Living together previously was not something that we had attempted and it was difficult for both of us. For instance - toothpaste. It was logical to squeeze the tube and roll it up from the bottom making optimum use of the contents. Louisa's approach was to crush the tube in any old place leaving plenty of toothpaste behind. Were we that different that we could not make house with each other?

"And then Mr. Grylls has lumbago, Kevin Tyndle has the lurky, Mike Clemp says he's wheezing, and then… You're not listening to me are you?"

"What?" I came out of a brown study to see Pauline looking expectantly at me. "Makes perfect sense that my receptionist is diagnosing my patients," I grumbled and went into the surgery.

I racked away the supplies I'd gotten from the chemist yesterday and at the bottom of the carton found a pink sealed envelope with _Martin_ written in looping letters. I was holding it in my hand when Louisa marched in with a white face holding her handbag, an arm of books, and a sack lunch.

"How do I look?" she asked. She dropped the books on my desk with a thump.

I inspected her silently. The outfit was a cardigan over a beige blouse, blue skirt below and a denim jacket.

"You think I look…" she waved her hand over her belly and chest as to simulate advanced size.

"Fine. Busy."

"Oh? Not you are _huge_ Louisa? That skirt makes you _look fat_, Louisa? Not, is it _wise_ to wear a skirt in the cold wind Louisa?" Each question was sarcastic and they cut like steel blades.

I closed my eyes for a moment. What could I say? "Louisa… the outfit looks… fine. The skirt doesn't, uhm, cling that much. So no, you do not look huge or giant, merely almost normal."

That took her aback from the surprised look she shot back. "Oh. Well, thanks for that." She lowered her voice. "About the… thing, upstairs…"

"Yes?"

"I apologize for being bitchy." She filled her arms with her books. "Better be going."

"I know this has been… difficult, for you."

She came to me and having no arms free pressed against my shoulder. "You'll have to take this terrible excuse of a hug as an apology." She stared up at me and her lip trembled. "We need…"

"I know," I said just as the door flew open. "Talk."

In stepped Sally Tishell bearing a cake tin. "Oh, Miss Glasson, you're _still_ here? Figured you'd be at school _by now_. How's that working out? I hear the school is not doing so well, since you quit suddenly and left us all in the lurch. But this morning I thought the Doctor Ellingham would be…"

"Do you have a medical problem?" I asked.

"Sadly no, but I read this _lovely_ article about Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus and I thought we might discuss it?" Mrs. T went on eagerly like Louisa did not exist, her puffy face looking even more so above the foam cervical collar around her neck.

"Sorry, Martin, best be off," Louisa said then stretched up and kissed my cheek. "Later. Bye," she smiled at Mrs. Tishell. "Oh and Martin, I'm filling in for Tricia Soames this afternoon so see you at dinner. You'll have to pick up something. I got my lunch, so you're on your own at noon."

"I'll buy some fish."

"Right," Louisa smiled and that lightened my mood. I watched as she went through my reception room, her glossy pony-tail swinging freely.

"Now, Mrs. Tishell, do you have an appointment?"

She started to play with the buttons of her sweater. "No, just might take about twenty minutes, if we hurry?"

She pushed closer to me and I ran behind my desk ad sat down. "No. I've a full schedule."

"Oh," she said crest fallen. "Maybe later," she winked and left the room leaving me mystified.

Pauline appeared. "Sorry about that Doc, she just breezed in. You know." she waved a finger at her temple.

"Pauline, that's rude."

"Whatever and mum's here."

"Mum?"

"Mrs. Lamb?"

"Send her in." Thus began my usual day. The New Years celebration a few days back left a number of villagers with aching heads from overindulgence of the liquid kind and aching tummies from poorly prepared foods. The day before was an avalanche of pounding heads and loose bowels. From what Pauline told me I was back to normal, whatever _normal_ is in the village of Portwenn.

I managed to survive the morning trials and surgery was closed for an hour. I was running the espresso machine when I heard the front door open. "Surgery's closed," I yelled.

When I continued to hear footsteps, I bellowed. "No, No!" and rounding the corner from reception to the narrow hall along came Edith Montgomery! "Edith?"

She sighed deeply. "Hello Ellingham." Her eyes were alight as she brushed stray hairs from her forehead. "Bit windy out there."

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "You looked me up." I could not help noticing that her shoes were just as impractical and over decorated as last week in Kensington but her patterned dress looked sleek.

"It wasn't hard, Ellingham. I just went to the NHS doctor directory and searched. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I found you were out here - in Cornwall! And not doing surgery! Why's that?"

"Personal reasons." There was no way in hell I'd tell Edith about my haemophobia.

"And now a GP? God!"

"Yes."

"Surgery's loss is Cornwall's gain?"

I didn't answer that one.

"What were you doing in London?" she asked giving the kitchen a once over and clearly not liking what she saw.

"Personal business," I said. "Why have you come to see me, Edith?"

She wobbled up the step into the kitchen. "Ask me to sit? No, perhaps not." She pulled out a kitchen chair and eased herself down. "I'll sit anyway."

I looked hard at her and sighed.

She got the hint. "You don't want me here."

"No, I don't Edith."

She tipped her head to the side. "It's been a long time Ellingham."

"Years."

"I've missed you."

I sighed. "What do you want?"

"Ellingham," she purred and tried to stand while reaching for my hand, "I…"

I pulled my hand away. "Uhm, I've eaten and was making espresso. Want a cup?" I crossed to the counter to put the table between us.

Silence stretched and too long.

"How's your work… in Truro, was it?" I knew damn well where she was working as Louisa had used my computer to look her up and I found it in the search history when I looked her up,

"Yeah. Truro, lovely _regressive_ Truro. Nice medical building though but I spend most of my days trying to get over-age women pregnant. Almost makes me feel like a pervert."

"Not if you approach the profession as a professional, Edith." I didn't like the Edith Montgomery I was exposed to now. Fifteen years back I believed I was in love with the woman and now she made my skin crawl.

"You wrote me a poem - several in fact."

"That was in school."

"Ellingham… Martin?"

I poured my espresso and took a sip. "I think you should go."

"Why?"

I turned to see her unbuttoning her frilly blouse and I got a glimpse of a lacy orange bra. "Whatever are you doing?" Today I had become a magnet for mad women.

She tried to stand but banged her knee in the process. "Damn!"

"Are you hurt?"

She explored under the table and a slim hand emerged bearing a few drops of blood. "Look at that! This wretched table of yours has torn my hose and bloodied my knee!"

"Ahm…" my typical reaction to blood started up and my mouth flooded with saliva. I whirled to the sink and dabbed at my mouth with a tea towel avoiding the sight. "Why are you here?" I grunted at her.

"I came to ask you to review a paper I'm writing. I know gynie isn't your thing…" she laughed.

I washed the gorge down with my coffee. "Not interested."

A shuffling noise made me turn just as Edith got around the table and rested her head on my shoulder. "Martin, _come on._ I bet Lisa isn't as good as we used to be? Is she?"

"It's Louisa, you horrid woman! Get out!" A sharp smell pricked my nose. "That's alcohol."

She smiled sappily. "Just a bit of liquid courage." She pawed about in her handbag and pulled out a whiskey flask. "Join me? It'll help, if you need that sort of help!"

"No." I bent closer and got a stronger whiff. "It's the middle of the day! And you don't drink!"

She blearily peered at a wrist watch. "It's one AM. And _yes_ Ellingham I do drink, _now_."

"PM." I examined her eyes. "You are inebriated!"

"Not by half, Ellingham." She sighed and grabbed at my wrist. "How about you? You want to…" she winked.

"You should leave. _Now!_"

She dropped her bag on the table and flung herself on me, pawing and grasping. "Ellingham… come on! Like old times, right!"

"You're drunk!"

She aimed what would have been a sloppy kiss in my direction, and I stepped aside to just as Edith bored in the kill. She missed me completely and fell flat on her face. "Oh god!" I shouted and there she lay out like a light and snoring loudly. I took her pulse and found it normal and by some miracle she hadn't smashed her whole face in. I shook her. "Edith?" No response.

Now what to do?

Pauline would be back in moments and patients would be arriving quite soon. Weather was blustery and cold so there likely were not many people on the streets. I hatched a plan. A quick look showed Edith's car, a flash looking Audi sedan, parked in the lane right outside. She was a small woman, massing perhaps 55 kilos, so in one swift movement I scooped her up along with her handbag and pushed through the kitchen door. I quickly went around the west side of the surgery, popped the door open and slid her inside. I found her car keys and plugged them in then belted her in place.

I put on the emergency flashers, closed the door and retreated. Then I swiftly called PC Penhale and in a fake voice reported there was a vehicle blocking the road outside the surgery.

Soon Penhale arrived in his jeep with lights flashing and siren blaring. He checked the car then knocked on my door. "Doctor Ellingham, are you aware there is a strange vehicle parked outside your house?"

"No. Who is it?" I looked out and saw the orange head of Edith Montgomery, MD slumped back in her car, mouth open, and clearly unconscious.

"Her registration says she's a doctor. Edith Montgomery by name and she's drunk; out cold."

I feigned interest. "Oh _dear_. What will you do?"

"Get her awake and arrest her. I'll have to go off patrol and cart her to Wadebridge as they have a proper holding facility." He hooked his thumbs over his belt. "You know it's a pretty sorry state of affairs when we get day trippers drunk and disorderly on the streets of Portwenn!" He smiled his usual slightly half-mad smile. "I'll take it from here doc. Oh, I'll have Charlie at the garage to tow her car off."

"Thanks Joe."

"Righto, Doc. You and me," he winked, "keeping the streets of Portwenn safe."

"Carry on then."

"Right."

About the time the towaway came, Louisa walked into the house. "Louisa, you're back!"

"Yeah, turns out Trish was able to stay, so I ate with the staff then came home. I think I'll have a nap."

"Naps are… good. You're feeling well?"

"Yeah, I am. What's with the car outside?"

"Day tripper I hear; got drunk and left it there, so I understand. Penhale's taking care of it."

"Oh, what a shame." She smiled and kissed my cheek. "I'm for a nap, then."

"Right."

"Oh," Louisa turned back and gave me a brilliant smile. "So how was your day been and your lunch?"

"Fine. Nothing of note to report."

She hugged me. "Good. Awfully sorry for the blowup this morning. Feeling much better now. Just nerves, I guess."

"Yes, nerves can make people do… ahem…strange things," I told her.


	6. Chapter 6

Revelation

It was one of those days when things started out fine and then take a drop off a cliff. I was feeling fit, mostly, and any morning nausea did get not stirred up until after I ate. But as long as I didn't bend over with a full stomach (and this stomach was getting larger) I did alright. I was rinsing my breakfast dishes when Pauline bustled into the kitchen.

"Morning Louisa."

"Morning Pauline."

"Huh."

"Huh, what?"

"The Doc has a fit when anybody leaves dishes on the counter he has rules. Took him the longest time to get me trained to put my cup or a plate I the dishwasher."

I sighed. "Martin is specific at times. His way."

Pauline nodded. "Tore a strip off me last week when I didn't throw a carton in the bin properly."

We laughed together. "He is… that way."

"But anyway…" her voice fell. "He's running late today."

"He had late call, out on Bodmin Moor."

Pauline shook her head. "He does hate that sorta thing."

"So he's running behind. He's…uhm," I paused, "he'll be grumpy."

"He is that, most times." Pauline leaned against the counter as she sipped her tea. "I been meaning to ask, why you came home? That sounds odd, I know, but the way you left back in November - it was sudden."

What to say. "Well you may recall we didn't get married and I… I just had to leave."

"Poor lamb," she hugged me. "Men can be horrible. Al's been moody and I think he feels trapped with Bert driving him bodmin over this restaurant plan. That what you felt?"

"No, not exactly." Why did I leave? And how long is that list? "Not sure I understand myself."

"And the school? I heard Strain had a yelling fit the other - poor Sally Chadwick had to stand right there and take his guff. That tosser got into it with you?"

"No… well, Mr. Strain's been fairly considerate. I think he's afraid of me."

"Cause you had his job. Sure I get that." She looked around furtively although we were the only ones in the room and I could still hear martin in the shower running upstairs. "But Louisa, uhm, so I was wonderin' how are things with the Doc? He can be a real barrel of laughs, you know."

"Pauline, we're fine." From the look she gave me she didn't believe me. There was no way I could tell anyone, least of all Pauline Lamb, how considerate Martin had been recently. When he saw the scan of the baby he'd actually gotten teary and that was a watershed event between us. And what followed later was earth shattering as far as our connubial bliss was concerned, so things were _more_ _than_ satisfactory in that department. Pushing away the glow of special moments with Martin, I coughed, as I felt nausea kick in. "Really."

Pauline looked at me guardedly. "Oh, if he's awful or anything like that I guess you'd not say, I know how you are. Course if he was awful you'd just up to London; am I right?"

I closed my eyes. "Pauline, that really is none of your business."

She hugged me again. "Louisa I known you my whole life and I can't really say that we're friends, really, but…"

"But?" I checked my watch as I needed to brush my teeth, check my makeup and get over to school.

"Oh, sorry, been holding you up."

"I'm fine, just what do you mean, exactly?"

"This is your business and what goes on behind closed doors is only between you and him." She echoed almost exactly what Isobel had told me the day of our non-wedding.

I shook my head. "I have to go. Have a nice day, Pauline."

Pauline smiled. "Okay. But if you need to talk…"

I nodded and left her in the kitchen and went upstairs. Martin was finishing shaving in the loo as I tucked my head in. "Can I brush my teeth?"

"Yep." He backed away from the sink. "How are…"

"Fine, Martin. You got up late." I kissed his cheek and I smelled the bland aftershave he used when he finished with his electric razor - no open blade for Martin.

"Stewart the Ranger picked up a hiker out near Rough Tor. Fool had gotten lost, had a flat mobile battery, and then fell off some rocks."

"Dear." I plied the brush over my teeth.

"Man was from Birmingham, totally unfamiliar with the area, and it was raining. Plus he had torn his ACL, had a gash on his head a mile long, and was concussed." Martin scoffed. "Luckily Stewart came across him while he was looking for poachers. I got in around midnight."

"I heard you come home." I finished and rinsed my mouth then followed with mouthwash. "So why's the man a fool?"

"Louisa, you don't need to do that… And the hiker _was_ a fool out _in the dark_, during a _rainstorm_, by _himself_, and _improper_ footgear, with _no maps_ and _no_ first aid kit! Understand?"

I crossed my arms. "Oh dear, didn't know that - he does sound unprepared. But I do need to use mouthwash."

"No, you don't! The cleansing agents in some mouthwashes can etche enamel, especially, uhm, when the person is calcium depleted or deficient, which is a _common_ matter when pregnant - I mean…"

"I get it; when I am pregnant."

"Did you weigh yourself this morning?" He started to tie his tie while he quizzed me.

"No." Martin was tracking my weight gain and I really wished he wasn't. I was a thin person (Martin would have said ectomorph) and seeing a chart where the data was a line whose slope was positive and increasing was unnerving. "I'll do it later." I didn't want to see that in the last three days I'd gained half a pound, so I sighed. Weight was something I _didn't_ want to think about.

"Louisa, _appropriate_ weight gain is an important marker of foetal development and…"

"I have an OB you know," I said testily.

"In Truro."

"Louisa, uhm, it's only that _if_ there is an issue…" he hissed.

"You're not my doctor, Doc Martin! Not that you haven't… _played at it_." I grinned but he didn't get my joke.

He sagged. "Louisa! If anything happened… to you… or the uhm…"

"Doc!" Pauline yelled downstairs. "Doctor Ellingham? Emergency!"

"Better go." He slipped on his suit coat and went.

I shook my head over our mini-row and prepared for school.

Downstairs I found a long trail of blood from the door into the surgery. Pauline was on hands and knees wiping at the liquid, more smearing it around on the flooring.

"What's happened, Pauline?" I stepped over the worst of it.

She swabbed at a large puddle. "A biker fell and got all crunched. I hope the doc can handle it! Look at all this blood!"

"What a mess," I said and felt my gorge rising. "Uhlp…" I gulped and had to run for the half bath. As I dashed past the surgery I could hear moaning and groaning from within interspersed with the sound of Martin vomiting.

I was on my knees losing my breakfast when Pauline checked on me. "Louisa? Oh God! Yuuckkk," I heard her say behind me. "Oooh! You okay?" I flushed the toilet and shakily rose to the sink. Bathing my face and neck made me feel better as Pauline gave me her classic wide-eyed look but I felt terrible.

"You're not okay, are you?"

I sagged down on the toilet and tried to get my innards under control. "No."

She started to reach for my hand and stopped when she realized she was still wearing blood strained surgical gloves. "Oops! Sorry."

The smell and sight of the red stuff set me off and I had to spew again.

She stood in the narrow hallway stripping off the soiled gloves. "You're not well, are you?"

"I'm… fine." I sagged against the bead board paneling, still on my knees and feeling terrible. "No, no, I'm not."

She clumped away and called out, "Doc! Louisa's sick!"

In a flash Martin appeared. "Oh no," he wrinkled his nose at the smell in the washroom. "Emesis. What set this off?"

I managed to blurt out, "Blood… on the floor." Pauline gave me a glass of water and I washed the worst of the taste away but the burning of gastric juices hurt. "Taking after you, Martin."

"Yeah," he grunted, then bent down and checked my eyes. "You should stay home this morning. Your complexion is pasty and your constitution looks poor."

"Martin! I have a test to give! The kids will be…"

"_Relieved_," he muttered. "_No_, you _stay home_. Pauline, call Portwenn School and say that Miss Glasson is staying home under doctor's orders."

"How _romantic_," she muttered. "But you look all ashen and shaky. White as a sheet!"

Martin glared at her. "I'll… uhm, in a case like this…" he stopped when I kicked him.

"Attend to _your_ patient, Martin," I sighed. "Maybe when I feel better I'll make it to my class."

Martin swooped away and back with his aural thermometer and checked my temp. "Normal. Not a viral illness then, likely due to… the uhm…"

"Martin!" I grabbed his hand hard and he shut up. "Right. I'll rest, shall I?"

He ducked his head. "You should rest."

"And you should see to your real patient?" I dabbed at my face with a damp towel. "That's better, I think."

"Pauline! We'll put Louisa on the sofa in the lounge, please. And…" he touched my cheek. "I'll stitch up my patient."

"Want some help with that, Doc?" Pauline asked. "I could hand you stuff… and things."

Martin considered this. "His injuries are superficial." Then he looked at me. "You are fine?"

I nodded. "Still a bit queasy." The room seemed to spin as I said that. "Sort of icky and weak."

Martin helped me to me feet and escorted me to the sofa with Pauline at my other elbow. I sagged onto the sofa while he propped up my head and back with extra cushions. "Pauline, get a blanket from the cupboard in the pantry!" He touched my forehead. "You don't look well."

"Thanks Doctor, for your professional opinion." I sighed. "I do feel bad."

"I'm worried…" he stopped when Pauline handed him a throw rug.

"Doc, the biker's asking if you're done playing about and when will you get back to his knee," she told him. "Awful looking, ain't it, I mean he's not bad to gaze on but that knee's a right mess."

Martin tucked the Afghan around me. "Need anything?"

"No," I said but my stomach was still upset.

"Right. Call if…" he touched my arm.

"I will. Thanks Martin. Sorry to be a bother."

Pauline watched Martin leave the room. "The patients will start barging in soon. Need anything?" she asked me.

"Maybe a glass of water."

She came back with a tall glass.

"Pauline? There's some paracetamols in my handbag, can you give me a couple?" I had a beastly headache and could likely dry swallow them if I had to, but a sip of water would help.

"Sure," she said picking up my brown bag and looking in it. "A lot of stuff in here - not as much as mine though."

"I expect the bottle should be in the side pocket."

She shook the bag. "Yep, here they are," she said and drew out two bottles. "Paracetamols and _prenatal_ vitamins?" She froze and screamed. "Aaahh!"

My head slumped for our little secret was out.

Martin came running, "What?"

"You're pregnant! My God Louisa Glasson, you're _pregnant_!" Pauline shouted loud enough to wake the dead. "Morning sickness! Why didn't you say?" she whacked Martin on the arm then.

"It's_ none_ of your business, Pauline," Martin responded. "Louisa… and I…" He rubbed his arm and had a helpless look on his face.

"My God you're lugging a pip around! You're preggers!" Pauline went on in shock. "Knocked up - bun in the oven!" She went with the usual slang about pregnancy.

I took her hand. "Pauline it's _fine_. Martin and me are alright with it."

"Who else knows?"

"Just us and Joan Norton," I said.

"I have to sit down," Pauline said and backed into a chair. "My God Louisa!" she was suddenly weepy. "That's why you came back! Oh, you're having a _baby_!"

Martin looked at me, not sure what to say, when a battered middle-aged man appeared in the kitchen. From his bright clothing, helmet, and bloody leg he was the cyclist. "Hey Doc! You gonna' stitch up my knee or you want me to have a go at it meself?"

Pauline stared at me. "A _baby_," she said in a shocked voice. "A baby."

"I know, I know," I muttered. "A surprise."

"So…" Pauline muttered, "that must mean… you was pregnant when you left. Right? That why you left? Did the Doc _not_ _like you_ being pregnant? Then _why'd_ you come back to Portwenn? Unless it ain't the Doc's. Is it? The Doc's? Did you know when you left the village? That why you called off the wedding? Will you get married now?"

"Pauline… uhm…" I stammered under her barrage.

Martin cut me off. "Yes it's ours, mine; it's my fault, I mean our fault…" words failed the man.

"Thanks Martin for that excellent explanation," I told him. "Now that this little drama is done, will you help the bleeding man behind you?"

Martin turned slowly. "Oh God! I told you to stay back there!"

The biker laughed. "When there was screamin' and shoutin' and you ran off and then I hear more yelling, I thought there might be a fire or summat!" He crossed his arms. "And now I see it's only about your girlfriend bein' pregnant. Well I got news for you, old man, it's easy to get a girl pregnant; I done it three times, maybe more with two girls as well; but it's keepin' 'em happy that's the trick!"

Martin gave me a surprised look. "Uhm…" then he turned back to the man, "Oh, look at that! You're bleeding on my carpet now! Go on, shoo! Back into surgery!" He took the patient's arm.

Pauline sat there. "A baby!" She jumped up and hugged me fiercely about the head and shoulders. "So how far along are you? Can't be much."

"About thirteen weeks, so late June."

"When?" she ran off and came back holding a circular dates rule and she played with it. "Yep, so when you two got engaged." She looked down at me approvingly. "Well _you_ didn't waste _any_ time."

"Pauline, it's not quite, like that at all. We did use protection. Not my fault it happened anyway."

"Is the Doc happy about it?"

"Martin's fine with in, Pauline. We're still friends."

That made her laugh. "Are you happy with it, Louisa? Well you been sleeping together so I'd say yeah, still friends, I hope! But what comes next? Other than you getting' a big belly and sore baps, hm?"

"That, Pauline, is a _loaded_ question," I sighed. "Now, can I have the paracetamols?"

"Nope. I'd better ask the Doc."

"Pauline! Not you too! Martin's been _all_… _managing_, you know how he can be!"

She knelt down by the sofa and stroked my head. "You poor thing. Won't you let us take care of you? You been on your own since you was a teen, practically." She sighed. "Oh Louisa, what will _you_, uhm… the _two_ of you do now?"

I looked up at the ceiling and couldn't answer for I didn't actually know.


	7. Chapter 7

Rx

Letting Pauline Lamb know that we were going to have a baby was almost as good as broadcasting it by megaphone or calling every telephone in the village. In no time at all the surgery phone was ringing incessantly, reception was stacked two deep by time-wasters and those with imagined illnesses, and there was s steady stream of villagers 'just passing by to say hello.'

Louisa, as I expected kept her grace, while I glowered and made muffled or not so muffled comments about busy bodies, snoops, and gossips. I managed to get Louisa up to bed and practically had to barricade the bedroom door to keep people away from her. I was forced to make an announcement to the packed crowd. "Miss Glasson is resting and will not be disturbed! Do you understand?"

Louisa's voice floated from downstairs. "Martin, not so loud!"

To a chorus of sniggers and laughs, I retreated to my consulting room. "Next patient!"

What tore it was when Bert Large shuffled in complaining of serious neck pain and then proceeded to tell me about baby bathing, diapering, and the proper kinds of prepared baby foods (although he recommended home made).

When he started nattering on about breast feed I almost struck him. "Bert! The baby will not be born for six months yet and I, and Louisa, _WE_, do not need advice from the town's former plumber, nascent restaurateur!"

He rocked back in his chair. "But Doc, I thought you might want the benefit of my years of hard won experience." He sniffed. "Since I had to raise little Al on my own, and seems to reason that _you_ been handing out advice of all kinds, mostly medical, since you got here and now it's YOUR turn to listen!"

"Get out!" I showed him the door.

"Doc, look, we all care for Louisa and believe it or not we care for you too! I know things can get all mucked up at times, but where would _we_ be without _you_? Hmm? I bet there's a dozen villagers that would be pushing up daisies if not for you."

"Bert, leave now," I said through gritted teeth.

"But what about my neck?" He twisted it a full hundred and eighty degrees from side to side. "It don't feel right!"

I propelled the fat man to the door. "I'll tell you what's not right, Bert! It's you wasting my time when there are real patients waiting to be seen!"

"Oh?" He turned to the packed waiting room. "Let's have a show of hands for who here are really ailing? Come on!"

Two hands went up and I sagged. Taking the bit in my teeth I marched forward. "Now look, here's the thing…" their greedy eyes looking for gossip looked up at me. "I, uhm… we…"

Bert patted my shoulder chuckling. "All right, folks, show's over. Get on home! He ain't in the mood."

They stood and trooped away leaving Mrs. Pinkle and Mr. Dash. Dash had dense cataracts and a heart murmur and needed eye surgery but was afraid to schedule and Alison Pinkle was an ancient crone who'd buried four husbands and was the mother of seven. I was treating her for an ulcerated toe due to poor circulation.

"Who's next then?"

Pauline handed a pack of notes to Alison. "You're next."

She wobbled to her feet and shuffled in wearing bedroom mules on her feet and three pairs of socks.

I glared at her feet. "Mrs. Tinkle, uhm, Pinkle, those seem inappropriate footwear for the rainy weather!"

"Oh, pish," she said and rapped my desk hard with her cane. "I couldn't be bothered to change from my inside shoes to my outside shoes!"

I curled my lip and peeled the wet things off her foot, finding the digits to be cold and white. "Mrs. Pinkle! I specifically told you to keep your feet warm and dry!" I lifted her foot and found the ulcer had grown. I sighed and scanned her notes. "Last time I checked your blood sugar it was elevated. Pauline!"

Pauline clumped in. "Yeah?"

"I need a blood sample. I suspect Mrs. Pinkle is developing diabetes."

Pauline cracked her gum. "I'll get my stuff." She came back and prepared to draw blood. "How are you Alison?"

"Fine, Pauline. So, what's new?"

Pauline looked up furtively at me. "Nothing much."

"I thought for sure _you'd_ be telling _me_ about Doc Martin and Louisa Glasson!" The old woman's eyes twinkled at me while I tried not to react. "She's got a bun in the oven."

"Where'd you hear that?" I asked angrily. "It's _none_ of your business! Pauline I asked you not to tell…"

"Oh," Alison smiled, "I heard it at the Farmer's Market, and from Dave the Postie, and I think Mike Chubb mentioned it. So no not from Pauline."

I sagged in my chair and bit my tongue.

"Did you think you could keep it secret?" she cackled. "In a village of 956 people?"

Pauline sniffed as she put a plaster on the wound from her needle. "There you go." She looked at me. "Anything else?"

"Uhm, the usual screen, especially for cholesterol but the blood sugar I can do here." I lifted a test strip and dropped a single drop from the used needle on it, feeling myself gag at the sight.

"Lord, Doc! What will you do when the baby's born? It is yours I hear." Mrs. Pinkle teased.

"Miss Glasson, uhm…" I tried not to retch. I compared the test strip to the chart. "Your blood sugar is high; higher than I'd like. What have you been eating?"

"Well, I had my three cuppas and some sweet rolls and a leftover piece of birthday cake."

"So most of your diet today is composed of fats and sugars?" I sneered. "No wonder your blood sugar is elevated! I've told you to eat a healthy diet!" I grabbed my pad and began to write. "I am prescribing a fasting blood test to determine if your pancreas is working properly. Given the signs - the blood sugar - and the ulcerated toe I'd say you may be bordering on diabetes."

"The _sugar_?"

This is what the locals called diabetes. "Yes."

She sighed. "Me mum had it and my gran, and da too. And grand-dad. And my two sisters. But not my brother."

"Your brother?"

"Dead - hit by a motorcycle."

I sighed. "Given the family history…"

"Now Doc! About Louisa. You're not married."

"No, uhm, we didn't do that."

The old crone cackled wickedly. "But you did do _something_?"

"None of _your_ business," I bristled.

"You listen to me now Doc Martin, I am an old woman and I seen and done a lot. Gave birth to seven babies, four lived, and I buried four husbands. I was preggers two times afore I was hitched and that was with Alf and Tim. Didn't happen with Bill or Larry cause we wuz too old." She smiled. "Most of the girls in this village, way back, old times you know, was in the family way afore we got to the church - if we got to the church."

"It's… well, yes, given the lack of useful contraceptive measures…"

She rapped my glass desk. "Doc do you love this girl?"

Her question made my stop. "Uhm, well… we, erh… None of your business."

A liver-spotted hand touched mine. "Now you just finish writin' that fancy scrip so I can call my grand-daughter and get off to Wadebridge for the tests." She stood and took the scrip in hand. "Cause if you love her, that's all that matters, right? That's the only medicine you'll need. Cheers."

The old woman stumped out and as I prepared to listen to the heart murmur of my next patient, I pondered her advice. It didn't make me feel any less guilty for my part in our mutual disaster. I had made her pregnant, and willing partner or not, we in it up to our necks.

Late in the day I opened the door of the pharmacy to get the weekly supplies, since Pauline had conveniently forgotten them once more, but she did take the medical packages to the post office. Mrs. Tishell had her head bent down over the glass counter peering intently through the glass and murmuring. She seemed to be counting.

"Mrs. Tishell," I announced, "since my receptionist cannot seem to remember, I have come to pick up the supplies I ordered."

She sprang up, flushed about the face and neck. "Oh, Doctor! I was wondering when you might come by!" She fluttered around the counter, hands pressed together and head canted to one side as if in supplication.

"What's wrong with your neck?"

"My neck?"

I pointed. "You have you head cocked to one side. Have you injured yourself beyond the long term neck injury?" She had worn her foam collar for decades.

"No… no. I was taking a bath and got water in my ear and it won't come out is all. So I been holding it sideways so it will drain."

"Water in the ear will resolve."

"What?" she shouted.

"WATER IN THE EAR…"

"Stop!" she relaxed. "Oh, there it goes." She dug her pinky into the affected ear. "Now what can I do for you Doctor Ellingham?"

"Pauline was to pick up supplies and did not. You should have a package." I sniffed the air for there was a flowery scent about.

She stared at me dumbfounded. "Package, a package," she reached and brushed at my suit coat. She shook herself. "A bit of fluff. Don't you hate that?"

"What?" I looked down but didn't see any fuzz in her hand, which she quickly put behind her back.

She sighed. "No, I thought not." She leaned languidly back against the counter. "You know, I still have tea biscuits. Jammy dodgers, hob nobs, lemon cream gingers? I think _those_ are my _favorites_, plenty of _creamy_ filling. Or are you a hob nob man? I could change my preference - _whatever_ _you'd_ like."

"Mrs. Tishell I did not come to the pharmacy to discuss biscuits or any other sort of foodstuffs."

"How about a toffee sponge _soaked_ with _luscious_ butterscotch sauce? I like to double the amount of sauce, make it _rich_ and gooey…" she began to run her hands from her neck across her body. "_Thick_ and _tasty_? Would like that?"

I held out a hand and snapped my fingers. "My supplies." I fished out a list. "Here - nitrile gloves, powdered, KY jelly, nasal spray, glycerin suppositories, and sterile wipes. Now!"

Mrs. Tishell straightened up and nodded. "Of course, Doctor. You can have it _your_ way or any way?"

I sighed and checked my watch. "Can you please hurry? I have to get to the fish market before it closes. Miss Glasson will be home soon. She had a meeting with Mr. Strain and the other teachers this afternoon. My turn to prepare our supper."

"_Miss_ Glasson?" Mrs. Tishell smiled coyly. "My that is formal, Doctor. Miss Glasson?"

"Ahm, Louisa… then."

She winked at me. "You can call her whatever you like." Now she looked away and bit at her lip. "I understand that Louisa is with child."

I nodded. "Yes."

"Your child?"

"It just so happens that it is. Now may I please have my medical supplies?"

Her face looked crestfallen but then her words took on a sharp edge. "You _are_ sure? I mean she was up in London for _weeks_ and I expect someone the _likes_ of her…" she winked, "would have _no_ _trouble_ at all finding _companionship_, if you know what I mean. You do know that I heard…"

I didn't hear anymore of her nattering as my mobile rang. I fished it out and answered. "Ellingham."

"Mart? It's Chris Parsons."

"I'm busy Chris," I told him.

"I just heard! Diana and I are over the moon about it!"

"What have you heard?" I asked suspiciously and in a whisper.

"You went up to London and brought Louisa back to Portwenn! Why? Is there something else you want to tell me?" Chris Parsons was likely my oldest friend, if I had friends, but he was my boss in the PCT first and foremost.

I glanced at Mrs. Tishell who seemed to be giving me a very cross look so I ignored it. "Mrs. Tishell, you round up those supplies and I'll get them tomorrow morning." I turned to the door and had my hand on it when I heard a sad voice behind me.

"Bye Doc," Mrs. Tishell told me. She waved with a limp hand. "But you'll be back. I'm sure you will."

I went thru the door to the street. "Yes Chris, Louisa Glasson has returned to Portwenn with me."

"And she's with you; in your house?"

I sighed. "Why in heaven's name do people find it so hard to understand that Louisa has come back to this back-of-beyond village and is living with me?" I was almost yelling and got dirty looks from passersby.

Chris laughed. "Whoa, Mart! Full stop! I'm just glad is all - really happy for you! Diana says to tell her welcome back and we'll have dinner _soon; perhaps this weekend? _That alright with the great diagnostician?"

I stopped and felt anger fade. Chris was just being friendly. "I'll have to talk to Louisa about it. She's not been well lately, especially when it comes to eating."

"Something you can't cure, Mart?" he laughed.

I backed against the wall of the pharmacy and out of the corner of my eye caught Mrs. Tishell giving me an expectant look. "Chris, you should know…" I stopped for with the entire village of Portwenn knowing of the impending offspring, I should tell Chris. "I… well, uhm…"

"Cat got you tongue Mart?"

I closed my eyes and felt nausea growing, almost like a panic attack. I managed to get some control. "Louisa and I… we, uhm…"

"What's up? Something's wrong? Is she moving back to London for you mistreated that sweet girl?"

"No. Chris."

"What in the God's name is it? For someone who could rip the hide off a clumsy consultant with three words I don't know how you can be so… _awkward_ when it comes to Louisa Glasson!"

I sighed. "Louisa's is expecting."

"What?

"You heard me."

"You said… you said! My GOD! She's pregnant?"

"I did."

"That's bloody fantastic! Wait, I have to tell Diana!" I heard mumbled words and then female shriek in the background. "You must be ecstatic! You're getting married, right? This might be _just_ the medicine the two of you needed! You will won't you? Get hitched?"

I sneered at my mobile. Medicine? It was the most bitter pill I might imagine to take for an unplanned pregnancy at our ages was… was… both galling and embarrassing.

"Mart? Hey old man, congrats…" Chris yelled as I snapped the phone closed.


	8. Chapter 8

Restaurant

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

I was quite happy for us to have dinner with Chris and Diane Parsons so we met at the Trevan Arms, essentially midway between Portwenn and Truro in Wadebridge. Martin wasn't happy when he heard I'd called Diana Parsons back and picked a date to meet. He was even less contented about the weather that night for it had been a glorious blue-sky day but clouds had come.

He huffed. "It's raining."

"Yes, Martin. It does rain you know. We'll have to leave by 6. I told her half six."

"Late to eat." He checked his watch. "I'll have to shave."

I sighed. "So you don't want to go?" I tapped my foot.

"No, I…" he stopped. "I'll go up and shave."

So I sat in the lounge and waited while flipping through a baby magazine. I'd taken great care with my hair, putting it up, and with my makeup and had dithered back and forth about what to wear. I finally picked loose black slacks and a gray top that draped from the shoulder. It suited me, I thought, and my bulge wasn't that obvious. I'd picked up a few maternity things the last time I was in Truro but my wardrobe was a bit thin because I was getting fat, not only at the waist but at the bust. Martin was banging about upstairs and I called up to him. "You ready?'

He clattered down the stairs tying his tie. "Yes."

I stood and held my coat. "How do I look?" I turned.

He inclined his head.

"It's just that you never say _anything_."

He sighed. "Louisa… we'll be late." He held the door for me but that was as much acknowledgement as I got.

I slammed the car door and buckled in, while he climbed in slowly.

He started the car. "I've upset you."

"Just drive Martin." Rain started just then and it suited my mood. I'd been feeling cooped up in the village, almost a captive with everyone hovering about and I'd fancied getting away. I looked at him and he had a grim set to his lips. Well too bad.

Our journey was in silence though the fading light and increasing rain, broken only by swishing tires and the wipers, but Martin pushed the Lexus along and we actually got into Wadebridge early. He found a spot on the street a block from the restaurant and in one smooth movement parked at the kerb. "Plenty of time." I moved to open the door when he said, "Louisa, stop."

"Yes?" I didn't want a row. I just wanted to see Diana and Chris. I enjoyed their company even if Martin might not; well Martin would be Martin no matter what.

"I… have to confess something."

"Oh? _You_ confess something? Must be a miracle." I stopped myself. "Sorry Martin. Just _me_ being cross."

He sighed and stared out at the dark street. "Louisa, I am not much good at small talk."

That was his confession? "I know."

"I don't often tell you that you look nice, because you _always_ do. I… don't waste words… so…"

"So I should take the oh, gosh, what five or six times you've _actually_ told me I looked nice and make that last the _rest_ of my life?"

His head drooped. "Auntie Joan maybe right."

Joan was supportive, almost too supportive like running me here and there on shopping trips and to my medical visits. Her help was so frequent I worried about her as she seemed to be breathless at times. "I know. She's said the same to me. Chalk and cheese."

Martin sat ramrod straight. "Something has to change."

Oh God. "You don't want me around."

"No… I…" he struck the wheel with his hand. "Damn."

"What are you saying?"

The silence stretched and I almost fled the car but his hand stole over and took mine. "Louisa, I do love you."

I blew out the breath I was holding. "I love you too."

"But…"

"There always has to be a but." I started to nibble on a fingernail.

"Love is one thing," he turned sideways. "Living together…"

"Is hard. Well what do you think would have happened if we had got married?"

He sighed. "You'd not be an out of wedlock mother-to-be."

I closed my eyes and felt tears start. "You want me to move out? That it?"

Unbelievably he put an arm about me and hugged me.

Awkwardly I hugged him back. "What are you trying to say?"

Martin kissed my cheek. "No."

"No what? Martin?"

He looked me straight in the eye. "Do you think I like the villagers sniggering behind your back and mine? Or those blasted teenagers - those girls - making snarky comments. Things like _'doncha know how to use a condom Doc?' _ I'd like to wring their scrawny necks!"

"Ah, yes. I've heard some of that and worse."

"Worse? Who? Tell me! I'll…" he balled his fists.

I rubbed his back. "It's fine. Don't worry." It was unusual for him to act like this. "What's wrong? Tell me?"

"Louisa, you asked me the other day, _'Are we working out?'_ That's the issue and other things."

"Oh. I did, didn't I?" We sat there like teenager loves as the windows started to steam up. "So… what issues?"

He froze. "You are pregnant."

"I _have_ noticed, Martin. If I wasn't I'd not have to keep buying larger underwear and maternity clothing."

"Do you want to get married?"

I sighed and the elastic band of my pants tugged at my swollen belly.

"You don't."

"I… Martin…"

"I'll do whatever you wish. Marry me, live with me, or move out if you must."

"You mean that?" What was he really saying?

"Something Porter told me has been digging at my guts and I can't make it stop."

"Out with it." My hand caressed his neck. "Don't be afraid." If he was telling me to move out this was probably the most feasible plan he'd come up with. _Come on, Louisa, buck up._

He coughed. "That fool Mr. Porter – he asked me if I made you happy."

"God." That was a hell of a question. Does he make me happy?

"I might ask the same, Martin."

"Go on then." In the glow of a streetlamp his face had grown extra wrinkles and he looked like he'd just lost his best friend – that is if he had friends.

"Do I…" my breath caught in my throat, "make..."

Suddenly there was a rap on the driver's window and a torch shone inside.

"Oh God," Martin said. "It's the police." He rolled down the window. "Yes officer?"

The policewoman shone her light over us, and when the glare left my eyes, I could see another cop on the pavement.

"Just checking," the woman said. "May I see your license please?"

Martin fished out his wallet and removed the card. "Here. I'm Doctor Ellingham, Martin Ellingham."

The cop looked at it, at him and at me. "Fine." She gave the card back. "Everything alright in there?" she asked clearly directing the question at me.

"Hi!" I said. "We're just having a chat is all."

"You are?"

"Louisa Glasson. We're…"

"Together," Martin grunted.

The policewoman grinned at me. "You're from Portwenn School."

"Yes, I am."

"I remember from the newspaper when you got hired back – picture as well. And you," she addressed Martin. "You're the GP out that way. I know of you."

"Oh?" Martin said. "How's that possible?"

"Constable Penhale," the woman said now smiling. "Say's you two are something special. He's often told the force about you. You're some sort of miracle doctor and you Miss Glasson – you could teach a _codfish_ to read – or so he says."

Martin had an embarrassed expression. "May we go?"

"Yep. By the way, you're parked a teeny bit far from the kerb."

Martin craned his neck and inspected the car's alignment. "I can fix that."

The policewoman swept her gaze over Martin's suit and my outfit. "And here I thought it was two teenagers snogging in dad's car! Sorry you two. Have a nice dinner. Night."

He rolled up the window against the drizzle and wiggled the car closer to the sidewalk. He sighed grumpily. "There's not a minute the two of us can have a real talk, is there?"

"You said we were _together_. You told that cop."

He looked at me in alarm. "We are – I did – I uhm…"

"I don't suppose even Martin Ellingham would lie to a policeman." I smiled. "Come on Martin, me and this thing growing inside me are hungry. Eat a meal with me and make me happy."

Dinner with Chris and Diana was fun. Chris tried to keep Martin engaged in safe subjects, although it was a tough slog.

Diana kept patting my arm and hugging my shoulder. "Martin if you let Louisa get away…." she shook a finger at him. "Naughty boy." She was a vivacious blonde of forty, and there was not a mean thing about her. She had also known Martin from the end of medical school since she was a researcher then. She was wearing a gorgeous blue dress that fitted her curves like paint, and I almost cried when I saw her fine body, for mine had gone all dumpy and squishy in places.

"Better listen to Diana, Mart," Chris told him. "She's a fine judge of character but why she ever married me I don't know."

She laughed. "I like bald men."

Chris patted his bare pate. "Damn good thing too!"

They laughed together and I watched Martin, wondering if he was thinking like me if we would ever be that easy with each other.

The conversation went on about the school and medicine of course, and I tried to pay Martin back for his word – together. Martin merely raised his eyebrows while I ran a foot up his leg.

Finally, halfway through the entrée, Chris got on a long roll telling Martin and Chris medical school stories and Martin Ellingham even laughed at one or two, which was some sort of record.

The food was good and the dessert, a cherry and apple crumble, fit the bill. We settled down to a few minutes of nearly normal existence as a couple.

Diana went with me to the loo both times. The last time she wanted to talk about Martin. The first had been about babies. "Louisa, how are things?"

"Di, it can be a bit touchy around Martin." I pressed my sweater top against my belly. "This bothers him."

Diana grinned. "Most men are a bit randy when the get their partners pregnant. That been happening? I had to beat Chris away with a broom sometimes when I was carrying both our two." Then she laughed. "Fun though."

How to answer that? "No things are…" I shook my head. "I think the last three weeks Martin thinks I'll break. When he came to London – that was a surprise – asked me back to the village. I told him _yes_ even _before_ I really knew I was having a baby."

"Louisa men are strange, and yours is odder than most. But Martin is a _good_ man, a _brilliant_ doctor, and he'd never do anything to harm you. I'm sure he'll be a good father. And… I think he does love you."

I eyed her in the mirror. How to explain our strained silences which seemed to be far too frequent? "Suppose so."

"Don't give up on him, Louisa; or on _yourself_, no matter what. And," she winked. "maybe you need to show him you're not a _weak_ and _pregnant_ woman. Might be fun, you know!"

I washed my hands. "We'd better get back. They'll think we ran off and picked up a couple rough bikers in the pub!"

"Like they'd want the two of us!" Diana stopped when she saw my shocked face. "Oops, I mean – well we're not spring chickens are we?"

"Nope." I patted where my waist had disappeared. "Not any more."

Back at the table, Martin was playing with his empty espresso cup while Chris went on about PCT funding issues. Martin sprang up and held my chair, which was nice.

"Thank you, Martin," I said. "Have you two had a nice man talk while we've been gone?"

Martin spoke. "Chris has been telling me about the latest funding initiative from the NHS for a more GP-based health basis."

Diana rolled her blue eyes. "Should the ladies go back to the loo?"

Chris laughed. "Better get home then and save the child minder from the terrors of a ten and an eight year-old." He stood and shook Martin's hand. "Was this fun?"

Martin looked at me and actually smiled. "It's been…"

I looked at him with what I hoped was encouragement.

"Enjoyable," he blurted out. "Now we should be getting on."

Diana gave me a sparkling smile and kissed my cheek. "See?" she whispered. "Remember what I said. Call me."

"I will, Diana."

Martin took my elbow and escorted me to the street. We didn't say anything at all for the thirty minute the ride back to Portwenn. I yawned as he parked the car by the house.

"You're tired" he said. "All that food can make one – tired."

"The beef was delicious."

I could see him wince in the dimness. "The monkfish was excellent."

"Come on Doc Martin," I opened the door. "Come to bed."

We got in the house and settled down in his queen size bed. I let Martin get deeply into his BMJ, and then I flicked off the light.

"Louisa? I was reading!" he protested.

Then I took Diana's advice and started to the show the man what a real woman was capable of.

"Louisa!" he protested as I plunged my hand inside his pyjama bottoms.

"Martin, I can't _get_ _pregnant_ when I _already_ _am_ pregnant," I said and didn't stop what I was doing.

He held stock still for a few seconds but then he kissed me and put his arms around me, the BMJ sliding to the floor. "You _may_ be right. We may to have to… uhm… experiment."

I laughed and ran my other hand through his short hair. "You told the cop we were together. Let's be together."

He kissed me deeply. "Yes, Louisa, I'd like that."

"Make me happy Martin," I told him. It took a little while but he did and I'm pretty certain I did the same for him.


	9. Chapter 9

Rules

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

I sighed as Louisa glared at me. "You're angry that I moved your school books," I said.

"Yes! I am!" An angry foot tapped the floor and she swung her arms up to cross them across her chest. "Where am I supposed to work - do my school work?" She flung her hair about in swift movements as her eyes flashed fire. "Wait, I know, you have a plan, or a rule about books on the kitchen table! One of many?"

"Louisa… I needed to move them to set table."

"Oh, yes, I can see that," she answered slowly. "So where have you put them? Hm?"

"On the coffee table."

She turned. "Oh, there they are."

"Did you think I binned them?"

That stopped her. "No."

"Louisa we need to eat dinner. The potatoes are in the oven - redskins - and the chicken starts in a few minutes. Roast chicken, I thought you might like that. Should be ready," I checked my watch, "in forty minutes."

She wiped her face with a shaky hand.

"Are you alright? You seem…" I cleared my throat.

"Sorry Martin… I…" she left the kitchen and she rushed upstairs.

I stood stock still, wondering what I ought to do. I had rules, she was correct, which was a system of activities and times that I did them. Spending most of my education in either boarding schools, college, or in medical school, I had an entire list of them. When to eat and how, what to wear, how to clean and polish… for instance I had a specific routine that I worked on clocks which was on Tuesday and Friday night for one hour. Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday were my medical journals, plus at bedtime each night. The weekend was more reading, plus checking supplies in surgery, catching up with patients in hospital if required, washing the car (that was Sunday afternoon), and laundry on Saturday afternoon. On top of my Monday to Friday full surgery schedule and half days Saturday it kept me busy. Such as today - Saturday dinner to be started at 3:30 followed by a brisk walk along the Coastal Path.

I heard the toilet flush upstairs, a door opened, and then a slow march down the stairs. Louisa entered the lounge not looking at me. She plopped onto the sofa, arranged an Afghan rug over her arms and shoulders and began to read a textbook.

I could not help but notice that her waistline was well gone now and at seventeen weeks gestation that was appropriate. Her bust was also fuller and I saw her tugging at her bra straps. She had been fussing with her clothing and although her things had finally arrived from London, after an unexplained detour through Southampton and Birmingham, there was little she could wear in them. Other than shoes, and she complained her feet were swollen, most had gone straight into a storage box under the bed.

Last night her friend Isobel Brown had called her and they'd had a laughing and teary chat-up for over an hour. I could not help but overhear explanations about pregnancy, babies (both ours to be and Isobel's girl that I had delivered not two hundred yards from the surgery in the open), men (I blissfully took the dinner debris to the bin at that point) and so forth.

Louisa watched the telly after - some police drama thing - then fell asleep on the sofa, while I tried to concentrate on my latest clock renovation. I had rules as rigid as the mechanical design that said for every sixty revolutions of the minute hand pinion gear the larger hour hand gear moved one revolution; like clockwork; regular, steady, sure - a fixed ratio of sixty to one.

Louisa - well Louisa was more like a seagull. Floating on the waves or soaring in the air - she moved fluidly and gracefully making her stylish female form move sinuously through life, a room, or my mind. I was still fascinated by her and when she smiled at me the room lit up for me. Yet I was mystified, confused, and appalled at times by her. From the way she scattered books about at random, baby magazines and guides (and I needed to inform her that most of them were rubbish) were piled by the sofa on the floor, or the way her clothing seemed to always hit the floor and not the hamper were all indications that she had an entirely different way of dealing with life. Louisa was not random, merely, _unfettered_ by the chains that bound me.

She wiggled and stood, pawing at her clothing. "Damn."

"Problem?" I now held the tray of raw chicken ready for the oven. I'd marinated it with herbs and extra virgin olive oil. Joan claimed the recipe came from my grandmother.

Louisa turned to me, dropping the Afghan on the table in a crumpled mass. "Martin, I have a problem."

I put down the baking tray, went swiftly to her and pressed my hand on her forehead. "Are you ill?"

She stood there as a teenager might roll her eyes at me. "I'm fat."

"What?"

She cradled her belly. "This."

"Ah, yes, pregnancy causes abdominal…" I stopped when I saw the cross look she was giving me.

"It's your fault you know."

I froze.

"And _mine_, Martin, "she sighed. "For I couldn't very well get myself pregnant, could I?"

Rules are the codes of performance by which I can deal with the world. It was those rules that allowed me to survive and thrive. Surviving my so-called upbringing, an unforgiving boarding school environment, and a long and intense medical training taught me that the universe runs on rules.

Louisa Glasson had her own set of codes of action which she worked under. Her school had rules (I've seen the book and it's a binder two inches thick) and worse, the village of Portwenn has rules and those are not written but codified into unspoken customs and manners, all of which are totally foreign to an outsider such as me. Those village rules therefore make me now and forever, one who is always just outside the understanding of words, a sentence, a paragraph, or a slight wink or look. The primary defense was to ignore any exasperated looks or words and push on with my objective, which is to try and keep the Black Death from overrunning this biscuit-tin town.

Louisa stood there with one hand cupped below her umbilicus, the other framing the bump from above, four inches below her expanded breasts. She looked down at her spreading body with a look that was a mixture of what I took for both dismay and wonder. "Martin!" her eyes flicked up at me. Here!"

"What?"

"Give; your hand."

I extended my hand to her. "Something amiss?"

"Not sure." She pressed my fingers gently against her belly a few inches above her left hip bone. "Feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"Shhh. Just feel."

My fingers felt a soft cotton dress, an elastic waistband under it from her pants, and the warmth of her body. Her tummy was gently rounded, not squishy, but growing firmer with each day as the uterus grew with the foetus and placenta inside it. The uterus was a muscular organ, not like a balloon filled with water, more like a thick walled vessel and the muscles of the enclosure kept up a steady series of contractions during gestation preparing for the ultimate push. The ultrasound had shown the placenta was well positioned high on the rear wall , so little risk of a placenta previa. So if I got my landmarks correct, I should be touching only the uterus through the abdominal muscles. "I… am I _supposed_ to feel something?"

"A... flutter. I felt something earlier, maybe when I was waking up." Her face lit up as she concentrated. "Can _you_ feel anything?"

My doctor's senses moved my hand slighter under hers, pushing in slightly. "No." I resisted pushing and prodding greatly merely holding, allowing Louisa to hold my hand in one place.

"Oh," she said, clearly disappointed. "It was something. Sure of it." She chewed on her lip.

I started to tell her it was likely just gas, but reason made me stop. "I'm sure you felt something."

"Wow," she said. "That's… that's… Was it the baby?"

"Perhaps."

"You're not going to give me a lecture about intrauterine contractions and a timeline of foetal movements? I feared you might."

"No." I had been about to say that a mother typically sensed first actual foetal movements near twenty weeks. "Quickening may be… hard to sense at first." She may have felt something but I didn't want to dissuade her.

She laughed. "Hard to sense. Well considering I feel like an inflated balloon most of the time and just when I think I'm used to this," she poked herself and it made nearly no dent, "it gets bigger."

I had noticed that was the case since the night of our dinner with the Parsons, when she had literally forced her sexual attention on me at home. I was afraid to compress her as we'd engaged in the act, but she'd pulled me atop her anyway. "Martin, just make love to me," she had said so I complied.

She had taken to lying on her right side in bed and pushing her backside against my leg, so with some urging it became our nighty routine and we spooned together. She had to explain the term to me, but I got it. She'd hold my left hand against her tummy and practically day-by-day I could feel it grow out of the pelvis, expanding both longitudinally and medially.

I was well acquainted with the working of the human body, but had taken a quick refresher on fertility, pregnancy and childbirth, especially emergency deliveries after Louisa's friend took it upon herself to deliver her child on the headland above Lobber's Point.

Less than three months later I was confronted by a pregnant Louisa and the inexorable fact that I was to be a father. That again brought back that word - father. Louisa snuggled against me, pushing her new sprung fullness against me.

Rules again. I sighed and Louisa took the sound to mean one of contentment I am sure. She ran her hand up my back to my neck and pressed her lips to mine. The feel of her body was pleasant and she smiled at me. "Don't you need to put in the chicken to roast?"

"Right." But I didn't let her go and I wasn't thinking about roasting chickens or the ones running about on Joan's farm. I was thinking of the bundle of growing human tissue, cartilage and bone, muscles, and nervous tissue inside the warm and elastic form that was pressed against me.

"Do you think we might go into Truro tomorrow?" Louisa asked in my ear. "I really need to buy some maternity clothes, if I'm going to be a mum."

There were rules that governed human behavior and relations, and the rules that I knew told me that Louisa would be a mother and a fine one, and I, if only based on biology, would be a father. The foetus growing and now likely moving on its own, down there in the warm, fluid dark at 37 C would have a father and in fact I already was a father, only 23 weeks shy of having a baby to hold. Now the question was what kind of a father might I be?


	10. Chapter 10

Rallying

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

The maternity shop (named Baby Daze Craze) was fairly new and large as someone had finally figured out that driving to Plymouth was too far for most mums, and the catalogs were little help. So some smart businesswoman had plunked this store smack dab in Truro in a converted loft building and the place was tremendous. I found I really had to try on things and had learned that the claim _one size fits all_, meant it was either too small or it fit like a potato sack. The old expanding body thing was getting to me, and I'd been feeling down, but I'd had an interesting time for the past hour shopping for new things from lingerie and nightgowns to day wear. There was quite a pile of bras, pants, nighties, and trousers by the register and now blouses and cardigans were on the counter. I balked at the mesh-fronted trousers but there was no help for it – there was _no_ room out there anymore – and I had to pick some.

Martin actually got quite nervous when I called him back to the changing stall and flashed him the nightgown I was considering. It was white and sleeveless, with eyelets worked all over it and it was pleated from top to bottom and I _loved_ it. "What do you think?" It had seed pearl buttons down the front and it could be used as a nursing gown when the time came.

His thick fingers brushed against it. "The material is thin. Not much insulation."

I rested my head against the dressing room door. "You're hopeless."

"About what?"

"A night gown is not just about insulation, you know."

A very pregnant mum waddled past in the narrow hall and gave us an apologetic look.

"Sorry," I called out and pulled Martin aside.

Martin's head whipped about and he scrunched himself against the wall to allow her to literally squeeze past. "Yes, mum, sorry."

"God, you are beautiful, luv," the woman said to me. "Your complexion – luscious. And that gown – wow! Lovely! I've been so overheated lately with this little 'un coming on," she patted her hugeness. "I've been sleeping in my pants and an old worn out shirt!"

I smiled at her. "Thanks. Best of luck."

"Thank kew! Another eight weeks and I can shift this! This little girl is wearing me out!" she laughed then shuffled down the way and into a changing booth.

Martin fairly yelled to me, keeping his voice low. "She, uhm… is… _quite_ large. Did you see her swollen ankles and knees? I _hope_ her OB stays on top of things. She may have gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, or out of control hypertension!"

"Martin, you're not _obliged_ to diagnose everyone." As I said this I felt another of those odd belly rumbles.

He sighed and looked down the hall. "You may be right." He touched the nightdress again then looked me in the eye. "Get it, Louisa."

"Now you want me to take it? Why?" _This_ turnabout had to be investigated.

"You… _clearly_… like it…" he stammered. "And the… uhm…"

"I do. Thanks." I smiled.

"I mean it. It looks, quite…" He turned to go and stopped. "Good. It looks, uhm, great on you."

I kissed him and he recoiled for he didn't like public displays of affection.

"I'll be… uhm… getting coffee." The pot had been pointed out to him when he arrived and that lead to an exchange with the sales woman:

"If you would like, sir, we have coffee around the corner, past the cash register."

"Giving coffee to expectant mothers is _not_ against the law but it certainly is rubbish," he blustered.

The woman gave me a surprised look. "Uhm, it's for the staff, sir." She then whispered. "He is cross."

So now he was up for coffee, which he'd disdained before. I was actually speechless. He'd actually paid me a compliment, although he had been prodded. I watched his broad back walk away. "There may be hope yet, old girl," I muttered.

A while later, the salesperson adjusted the neckline of the purple blouse against my shoulders and bobbed her head happily. "Oh, I like this one as well!"

I smoothed it against me, noticing how it fitted well, although it did accent my small bump, but it also gave room for things to grow.

"Oh," the chirpy woman quipped and there's a belt – ties in the front. Sort of a satiny finish, which matches the trim on sleeves and the neck."

I stared at my reflection at the wrap top which had a white panel across the V-neck. "Short sleeves."

Martin humphed from a leather chair.

"What?"

"Impractical – it is cold outside. Your arms will freeze." He sat there crossly almost like he was being overcome by something.

"Martin, I _will_ need things for later – when it's warm. And I can wear this with a cardigan or a wrap sweater."

He sniffed and eyed his watch ominously.

I sighed. "Martin you don't have to sit there while I shop."

He waved me off. "You wanted to come shopping and I had to drive you."

"I _could_ have driven myself, Martin."

He looked up from his BMJ. "We should get you a car. I was thinking about the Lexus C200h; a hybrid. Plenty of room for a baby seat and gets excellent safety ratings and so forth."

The sales clerk gave me an appraising look and whispered softly to me, "Take the car – least he could do." Her bright red nails brushed against my belly. "After all… he gave you this."

"It's _not_ like that," I whispered back. "We…"

"A bit better than your old Ford," he sniffed.

"I quite liked that car, I'll have you know." I was miffed for that was my _first_ car and _only_ car.

"Then why did you sell it?" he asked.

"Uhm, well, because I was moving."

"And now you've moved back." He flipped his journal closed. "Is there a lavatory?"

"In the back – past the coffee," the clerk said and she visibly relaxed when he'd gone. "Oh, he's a _good_ one. Nice suit, though."

"Look," I said with one hand on hip, "it's none of your business. He's my… my partner… and just because he can be…" I had to stop. "I really don't want to apologize for him."

"Then don't. You're living with him. Now… where were we? The blouse? Like it?"

The woman had shown me all sorts of nice things and I really dreaded the bill piling up. There must be five hundred quid in the pile that had been stacked on the counter. I bit my lip. "Perhaps not. Maybe that's all for today?"

Martin came back holding a paper cup and the face he made showed the coffee was not to his liking.

"How's the coffee?" I asked.

He sniffed, wrinkled his nose, and then held the cup at arm's length. "The beans are poorly ground, the paper filters are likely the cheap brand, no doubt – and the pot is likely inside black with soluble oils from the coffee. No wonder it tastes rancid, as well as bitter." He put the cup down by the register. "The local Board of Health should be informed."

The clerk by the register, a sweet young thing that reminded me of Elaine Denham, just younger, less smarmy, and better dressed, tossed her blonde head. "Oops, sorry. My fault. I should have made a new pot after lunch."

The manger came over. "Antonia, I told you to clean the pot!" The older woman tried to make amends. "Hard to find good help these days. I am _so_ sorry."

"Are you finished shopping?" Martin asked me.

"Yeah." Now I just wanted to get out of the store before the battle exploded for I could see the signs.

He pulled his bank card from his wallet. "It has been _my_ experience that poor work skills on the part of employees may, one - be placed on poor training by the management, or two - a lack of intelligence."

"Martin…" I said through gritted teeth.

"Can you run a cash register, the bank card scanner, and so forth?" he asked the girl.

"Yes. I can. Just don't know how to make coffee," the girl winced. "First time I tried."

The manager bristled. "I assure you…"

"Then child, you are not stupid, ergo…" Martin cut the manager off in mid-sentence. "Shush." He gave the card to the young girl. "Ring these up please," he waved his hand at the huge pile of clothes, "and you," he turned to the manger, "if _you_ cannot _properly_ train your employees in EVERY part of their jobs, the fault is _yours_."

The manager was speechless yet there was high color in her cheeks. "I… I'll get to it straight away."

"Do that." He looked at me. "You must be hungry."

I bit my lip, knowing the store employees had just been brushed by the tiniest part of Martin's ire. "A mite peckish."

He checked his watch. "The Smuggler's Inn has just opened for supper, if you don't mind eating early."

The girl started and muttered softly, "Bit of a pricey place that. Posh."

"No, dinner would be…" I stopped for the usual word didn't quite fit. "Good – great."

He ducked his head. "You need sustenance."

The manager kept her mouth shut and helped the girl scan and fold the items and bag them into two large polythene bags and four dresses on hangers.

"My God, Martin, that is a lot. Too much," I told him.

"No, Louisa. I want to buy them for you." He turned to the girl. "How much?"

Her eyes bugged out. "That's one thousand, two hundred, seventy-eight and twenty seven."

He scanned the card and signed the electronic box.

I heard the saleswoman mutter at the total. "Bloody hell. Ask for the BMW, girl."

"God, Martin, that's… too…" I stopped when I saw his eyes.

"You need clothing for your, uhm, maternity. And I can't have one of Portwenn's teachers going about in rags." He grinned slightly but then it faded. "What would people say?"

"Yes," I told him.

The Smuggler's Inn was an ancient building dating to 1613, according to the plaque by the door, and it was posh. Deep carpet and dark paneling, made it comforting and a low fire made it seem cozy. They seated us near the fire after Martin whispered to the host.

"I thought you might be cold from the wind," he said.

It had been a bit of a walk from the car park where he'd locked up the packages. "I'm fine, really," I said but I felt chilled. They brought menus and a plate of bread as starters. "This is nice."

He ducked his head. "The rare beef is good, I have been told, or the monkfish, but the fish in Portwenn or Newquay is likely better." He scanned his menu.

"No I couldn't have beef."

"Why not?" he asked.

"You know."

He put down his menu. "Louisa, you…"

The waiter came back and dropped off ice water and I drank deeply. "Didn't know buying clothing could make me so thirsty."

"Proper fluid balance is essential. Your body…" he stopped.

I sighed.

"You don't want me to lecture. I shall not." He went back to looking at his menu.

I pressed my hands together. "I won't order beef."

The menu went down and he stared at me. "No! No! You need a certain amount of good meat in your diet, preferably lean. Do not let my…" he cleared his throat, "_issues_ stop you from eating what you wish."

"Oh, well I would fancy a good old slab. Maybe done medium?"

"Do so. Louisa just because you are with me…" he stopped. "Are you? With me?"

This is what I'd wondered about. Were we together? The funny tummy rumble hit for a few seconds and I knew what it was. It was the baby kicking or twisting about – it could not be anything else. He sat there unaware of the odd miracle I was feeling, one I'd doubted would happen, while waiting for the right man.

I took his hand and rubbed it. "Martin… I don't know what to say."

"Say _thank you, Martin_. Let me do _that_ much." He looked away and back. "Please."

"So we're rallying together, that it?" I said.

"You mean - we're on the same team."

"Do you doubt it?"

He pressed his lips together and looked to the fire. "Nice fire."

I watched his face go through a number of quick facial movements until he turned back to his menu. "We should order."

I clutched at his hand. "Thank you Martin for the clothes. And the dinner."

"We haven't eaten yet." His face was wary now.

I rubbed the back of his hand with my thumb. "Yes, Martin. You can be on my team."

His eyes looked awestruck and he was about to blurt out something, when the waiter came over and interrupted him. "Today's specials are…"


	11. Chapter 11

Rip

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

"Martin," she said huskily. "I can't…" I couldn't see her face in the dark but I guessed she was biting her lip. "Can't…"

That morning I was examining the eye of Stan Chart, one of the lobster fishermen, who'd got something in it. "Can you see it, Doc?"

"If you'd stop moving your head I could properly examine you!" I shouted.

"Sorry, Doc," he said, stopping his writhing but kept his mouth working. "How are things on the home front, Ellingham?"

I was peering at his eye, which was inflamed from his amateur efforts to dislodge whatever it was, through my magnifier. "Stop right there."

"What? And can you help the pain, Doc?"

I sighed as I went to my medicine cabinet and took out the topical anesthetic drops. I applied them to his eye. "Now you can keep from squirming, I hope. Give it a few seconds to take effect. How'd this happen?"

The fisherman leaned back on my couch, slightly more relaxed than before as he'd been twitching even as I touched his hand. "Had a pot stuck on the bottom. Happens sometimes - the current shifts tag lines; under a rock usually." He groaned. "Then we got too smart by half. Me and my mate rigged a line from the boom and heaved away. Hell's bell's the bugger shot straight up and into the boat, but something came off it and went straight in my eye! Hurts a hell of a lot, Doc!"

"Still?"

"Well, maybe not that much, but my knee's killing me!"

"What's wrong with your knee?"

"I banged it on the coaming coming ashore in the dingy."

"Right, well we'll see to that in turn." That's the way these exams usually went. A splinter turned into a near laparotomy. As it was the arrival of the fisherman holding a hand to his eye had thrown my morning schedule for a loop, as I took him as an emergent patient.

"And what about this?" he held out his left wrist where an ugly gash oozed blood from inside his oilskin jacket.

"Oh God!" I gulped - for now I'd have to stitch him up. The wound dripped blood onto my couch and the floor now as he straightened his arm and the blood pooled at his elbow dripped out.

Stan stared at me as I had to vomit into the bin. "You okay Doc?"

I wiped my lips then washed my hands. "Let's do the eye first." The anesthetic drops had done their work so I gloved my hands and held his eyelids open. "Now, look straight up." I held the optic forceps out of his sight. I'd located a bit of grit stuck on the sclera, the white of the eye. "Now, I'll just take the grit away." I swiftly put the tiny forceps on the piece of sand and plucked it off. "Done."

He blinked. "Wow! That's great. Doesn't hurt at all."

I flushed the eye with saline next. "I'll give you some ointment. Use them for one day only."

"For the pain?"

"No, it's an antibiotic. The eye will heal quickly. Here." I dropped an eye patch by his side. "Keep it covered." I ripped the package open and slipped the cover on the eye, the elastic behind the ears. "No peeking - no light - no rubbing or scratching for 24 hours."

He growled up at me.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No, Doc! Arrrgg! Pirate, right?"

I sneered as I began to tug at the oilskin. "I can't believe you were fishing in this rotten weather." The Met had a weather alert out for a storm but fisherman being fishermen they went out anyway.

"Well, Doc," he sat up revealing his bloodstained sleeve and the damaged arm, "you never know what you might bring home!" he laughed. "Sorta like you!" he laughed again.

"What you mean?" The laceration of his wrist was not deep, merely long and bloody and I had to suppress the vomit reflex with all my strength. "You don't wash often, do you?" I added sneering at his filthy arm and clothing. "Look at the dirt! If this injury had happened further at sea what would you have done?"

"Oh, wrapped it up in a towel or an old shirt. Got some rags on board."

"No first aid kit? Good God! You might die of sepsis!" I swabbed at the blood and disinfected the area with the strongest medical cleaner I had.

"Owww, that hurts!"

"It should. If you had a modicum of washing habits…" I looked into the wound. "I'll have to irrigate this. Pauline!"

The door came open. "Yes, Doc?" my semi-able assistant popped in.

"Get a basin, on the cart. No! The large one. I need you to irrigate and flush this wound while, I uhm…"

Pauline nodded. "Yeah, sure."

"Use this," I gave her the bottle. "Then scrub the surrounding tissue. I've shown you how to do that. Be thorough! And use gloves!" I yelled.

She gloved up. "Now _you_ can, go, Doctor."

"Where you going Doc?" I heard Chart ask as I left the room. I dashed down the hall and into the loo where I gripped the sink with mighty force and stared at my sweaty, alarmed face in the ancient mirror until the panic abated. A cold and wet towel held to my face helped immensely and in a few minutes I was able to go back to surgery.

The stitching went well and Pauline bandaged the wound nicely.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" I asked.

"The blood draw course had an extra evening thing on first aid and bandages. Thought I might be more useful."

I peered at the wrap. "Competent."

"Goody," she said. "This mean I get more money?"

"No. Now Mr. Chart..."

"No, it's _Wilson_," Pauline muttered.

I ripped off my gloves, washed hands and swept up his chart. Stanley _Wilson_, it read. "Pauline these are the wrong notes!"

My patient grunted. "Nope. That's right. Wilson."

"But I thought your surname was _Chart_?"

"No. Got that as a nickname when I was 'bout fifteen. My dad took sick and I decided to take the boat out on my own. Got lost. The Lifeboat boys had to find me. I was twenty miles south and ten miles to sea of Rump's Fort! All my mates teased me. Said all I needed was a c_hart_! Get it?"

I glanced at Pauline to see if this was correct or some inane joke.

She grinned and cracked her gum. "That's right Doc. We always call him _Chart_."

I sneered at Pauline and she left as I cleaned away the surgical debris. "I'm writing orders for oral antibiotics - fourteen days' worth."

"Two weeks?" the fisherman objected. "Damn. And my knee?"

I prodded the swelling and found nothing broken or strained. "A bruise. Paracetamols."

He grunted as he climbed off the exam couch. "Hell of a day's catch."

I wrote the scrip and gave it to him. "If they eye or writs bothers you especially the wrist - inflammation, undue pain, and so forth, come see me. I'll take those stitches out in two weeks and keep it dry."

"Ho in the hell can I work if I can't get my arm wet? I'm a bloody fisherman!"

"Use rubber gloves."

"Oh. Well I guess that's why they pay you the big money, right?"

I ignored him. "Next patient!"

The man stood over me. "You must make a pretty penny from what I hear, considering what your missus been wearing."

"What do you mean?"

Mr. Wilson swung his oilskin over his torso and I winced at the thought of germs and dirt touching the fresh bandage. The man would be lucky he didn't get gangrene and need an amputation. He smiled wickedly. "That Miss Glasson - nice bit a skirt. Some of the boys was sayin' she shore looks a cute thing, preggers and all - perky and pert-like," he cackled. "Flash clothes you been putting on her back!"

"Get out," I said hanging on to my desk to keep from striking him

He lowered his voice and his rotten and yellow teeth came far too close to my face. "Maybe she figures it's an _even_ trade, Doc? She gives you her baby and gets room and board, and clothes, maybe a whole lot more. Bet she's been teaching you a thing or two - _upstairs_?"

I stood up and though Wilson was broad and muscular I topped him by a head. "You! Shut your rotten stinking mouth! Miss Glasson and I are…"

"Oh, yeah, I can see that," he grunted and leered.

I stomped to the door, propelling him along. "If I hear ONE thing that you have been spreading these EVIL and MEAN LIES to ANYONE, I'll have you up on charges!"

He gave me a scared look. "I bet you would." He sighed. "Sorry Doc. I got a mouth on me that won't quit." He waved his repaired arm at the eye patch. "But you fixed me."

I grabbed his elbow. "Wilson or Chart or whatever your name is - I do NOT treat bullies like YOU because it is FUN! Far from it! It is _my_ _job_ and if I could just as easily turn you away and let the flesh rot off your bones!" I let him go and tugged at my suit. "But it is my job and _I am a professional_. But," I stuck my finger in his face, "I could just as easily take you outside and bash your face in."

The man cowered. "Jeeze, Doc. Sorry. I am sorry. Zip lip from me, right?"

I glared at him. "See to it," I hissed. "Now go."

After he was gone Pauline came in. "Sorry Doc. Chart's a nasty bit of business. He goes though wives and girlfriends so fast he has to import them from Devon."

I blew air through my nose. "Pauline…"

"Yeah, Doc?"

"Send in the next patient," I said slowly while my head throbbed.

So that night Louisa lay in the dark whimpering and I had to ask her why.

"I can't…" I couldn't see her face in the dark but I guessed she was biting her lip. "Can't…"

"Can't what?"

She sniffled. "People are saying mean things - about me - and you too."

"I know."

She rolled against me and I felt tears land on my neck. "What have _you_ heard?"

I took a tissue and by using facial landmarks dabbed at her eyes. "Nothing." Her half-term belly pressed against me and it shook as she weeped; her silent cries racking her whole body.

"But you just said…"

"No."

She clutched at me. "Damn them all."

"Louisa…"

"No Martin. Those nice maternity outfits you bought me?"

"Yes."

"I heard whispering in the Market that they were your form of paying me."

"What for?" This was what Chart - Wilson - was intimating.

"Like I'm a _trollop_." She broke down sobbing. "That our baby is sort of a business deal!" she added whinging.

I held her while she cried. "They are _stupid_ and _ignorant_ people, Louisa." I tried to wipe her face once more but she caught my hand.

"No Martin…" she gasped, "I… can't..."

"What do you mean?"

There was silence, then she rolled away from me and rose from bed. "I don't think I can do this anymore."

"What are you saying, Louisa?"

She switched on the light and I saw she was wearing the white nightdress she had like so much. She stared at my reflection in the dressing table mirror. "I'm leaving you."

Those words ripped a gash in my mind and in a flash it was Edith Montgomery again, over twenty years ago, telling me she wouldn't marry me and was leaving for a practice in Canada. "Bu… but…" I stammered. "Where will you go?"

Her beautiful face looked down at her bulging belly and she rubbed it absently. "I don't know, Martin. I really don't know."


	12. Chapter 12

Rare

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

"So the grandpa says to his pregnant granddaughter, _well_, aren't _you going to marry_ the bloke? And she replied, _listen granddad - if I wanted to live with a grumpy bugger full time I'd not have moved out of your house_!" Stacy slapped the staff table and guffawed at the end of her not very funny joke.

Tricia, her audience, laughed but her face turned to a frown when she saw me. "Uhm, Stacy, Louisa's here."

Standing in the doorway to the staff lounge I felt my spine stiffen as her joke hit too close to home. _Pregnant_ and _grumpy bugger_ were spot on, but in this one the grumpy bugger was _me_.

"Oh, _Louisa_," Stacy said, "I didn't know you were there." She stood and twisted her hands. "I was just telling a joke I heard the other day from Stan Chart. Maybe it wasn't… that funny after all."

"No it wasn't," I told her then took my lunch from the fridge as I needed to start lunch right away. Lately the baby had made me peckish at all sorts of times and this little bugger wanted food now. At least Martin would be glad I was eating regularly.

"Miss Glasson," Stacy got serious, "I do apologize."

I stuck a crisp in my mouth and if Martin knew I was eating them he'd kill me, or worse, lecture me for an hour. "Right."

Tricia made excuses and left, sniffling.

"Has Trish got a cold?" I asked, as I held my hand over my mouth.

Stacy sighed. "Stuff's going around." Then _she_ sneezed!

"God." I snatched up my bag and retreated into the hall. I looked down at the lovely bag of crisps I'd just ripped open and binned them, frowning at the thought of what contagion I might have just stuck in my mouth. I was not a germaphobe, per se, but I didn't want to get sick.

Stacy followed me out. "Louisa, I _am_ sorry."

I looked at her askance. "I just don't appreciate now, if I ever did, jokes about _pregnant_ women _or_ women _in gener_al."

Stacey looked concerned. "Of course. I am sorry and I do apologize. Somehow I didn't think, did I?"

"Okay. So do _you_ have a cold?" I edged away from her.

"Oh no," she replied. "Just morning gunk. I'd better get back to the office. Bye." I liked Stacy but the flaring of my temper was more due to me than to her. I watched her walk off as I slumped against the wall. Unfortunately that's when Mr. Strain pounced.

"Miss Glasson? I thought you were working a half day, as usual?" he asked harshly.

"No." I told him and my voice had taken the tone I remember when my mum and dad were cross and I tried to get invisible, but then I went on the offensive to this intrusive little man. "Tim asked me to fill in for him. He has to go see the solicitor about his mum's estate. I'm sure he told you about it." Tim Rogers had taken on my old classes before I was Head as well as before I left… it was complicated. But I could teach those classes in my sleep.

Mr. Strain gave me a quizzical look, and then his face broke into a grin. "Oh, yes! I do recall that!" He smiled so much I thought his face would crack. "Good, good!"

I jiggled my lunch sack. "So it's lunch time, right?"

He looked down at my lunch sack. "Ohhhh, yesssss! Won't you eat in the staff room? No need to be standoffish, you know!" He started to bounce from one foot to the other in a manic grin. "Must have a _happy_ staff, mustn't we?" Then his right hand flung up to this head and he started to stroke it.

I looked down at him for he was slightly shorter than me, and my wedge shoes gave me more height. "Are you all right? You seem…"

He then turned into an angry Mr. Strain. "What? _What_ do I seem?" His left arm flew up and grabbed his right bringing it to his side. He thrust a pointed finger at my face. "Miss Glasson, Louisa… yessss. I've been keeping my eye on you. Both eyes… yes! Yes, I have!"

"Oh? And how do _you_ find _me_, then?" I bristled.

"You're… you're…" his voice failed while he searched for a word. "You're…" he chuckled, "in the family way, aren't you? I've been waiting for you to tell me. It's fine, really."

"Yes, yes, I _am_," I held my lunch bag before my like a shield, trying to hide my belly from him. "Having a baby."

"That is nice. Lot's more little kiddies for the school. Hah! Not right away of course – these things take time." Now he acted nice. "When, uhm, when, are you, uhm…"

"End of the summer term – on holiday."

"Oh? Well I imagine you and the Doctor will be quite busy with a little one about and…"

Luckily for me Stacey called just then. "Mr. Strain – phone call!"

"Miss Glasson," his head whipped back to me, "I find you… uhm… _busy_, just like me," he said as he ran off. I had been the Head Teacher so I knew there was always something to be dealt with.

I shook myself over our odd encounter, yet _all_ of my encounters with Strain were odd or weird, or both – bordering on _creepy_ mostly – just like this one. I went into my classroom and washed my hands thoroughly after the near germ incident. In winter colds and the flu ran rampant and I feared the village was in for another crop of colds as a good batch of the students were coughing or sniffling. The kids were usually hacking, at least one was, and the recent cold and wet weather, even with a touch of snow the other morning, was harsh.

I wiped the desk top with an alcohol wipe then put a paper towel down and set out my lunch. A salad with homemade dressing, a sandwich of sliced chicken with cheese and cress, with just a skim of margarine, on fresh bread, and an apple. I opened my water bottle and dug in. I looked at my repast and the crisps would have been a nice treat, although Martin would be scandalized that I'd bought them.

Trish Soames came in. "Hi."

"Hi. Have you eaten?"

"Yep." She perched on a desk top. "Been alright?"

I nodded trying to eat a mouthful of salad.

"Sorry. Louisa, I just wanted to say, well, I am so glad you've come back to Portwenn. I'll bet it made the Doc happy."

I spluttered for I was not about to tell Trish about latest developments. "Sorry, just… food went down the wrong way." I chugged the water. "Better."

She stood and held out her hands. "Look at my hands."

"What am I supposed to be looking for?" Trish had been quite nervous before and I'd worried about her, but she had clearly calmed down.

"Can't you tell?" she asked happily. "They're not all red and raw! I've been getting better; a lot! Doctor Ellingham helped me ever so much. _Brilliant_; just a brilliant man, I think. I was ever so anxious before. You're so lucky to be with him for he's a rare breed."

I managed to swallow the next mouthful salad and not choke when I heard her words. "I'm… glad you're healthier. Doctor Ellingham is a very good doctor."

"Oh my, how formal. I just wanted to pop by; seems we never get a chance to talk, do we?" She leaned over the desk and hugged me before I could move. "All belly and baps you're getting. Not an extra pound on you! You look marvelous!"

"More like _giant_." I tried not to inhale near her as I'd heard her cough before. "Tricia can I eat? Don't have a lot of time."

"Sorry. Tell the Doc I said _hi_, would you?" she smiled.

I could only nod as my throat went tight.

The day went on and I grew tired, more so from what I was facing at Martin's house than at school. By half three the kids were gone and I packed up. I snagged two cartons from the school bin and waddled home through a drizzly rain. _Home?_ I could only groan.

Pauline greeted me as I hung up my wet coat. "Cartons?"

"Just… packing some things."

"MRS. MARRAK!" she shouted out and a patient limped in to see Martin.

Reception was filled and I quit the room quickly, sure there were billions of germs floating about. I trudged up the stairs under the looks of too many eyes and sat on the bed for a moment to catch my breath. My back was aching and I felt a headache right behind my right eye. My feet were swollen so I kicked off my wedges. I lay back to rest and suddenly Martin was standing in the doorway looking at me sheepishly.

"You're here. Pauline mentioned you were home," he told me guardedly.

"Martin. School's out."

"I see." He stepped into the room and closed the door. He saw the cartons on the floor. "Ahm, you're packing."

"Hadn't started yet. A bit tired."

He looked at me silently.

"What?" I asked.

"Neither of us got very much sleep last night."

"No." That much was true after my declaration. Martin had tried to reason with me but I shut him out so he'd gathered his pillow and a spare blanket and went below to sleep on the sofa.

He stepped to the dresser and straightened his hairbrush and comb laid out there. "Louisa…"

I closed my eyes. "Yes, Martin?" I didn't want to talk to him.

The bed creaked as he sat down on it keeping a good two feet away. "What do you, uhm, want me to say, or do?"

I looked at the spider web of cracks in the ceiling. "I wish I knew."

He took my hand. "I'm no good at these things."

I looked him full in the face. "Who is, Martin? Tell me? Who is?"

The silence grew as rain pattered on the roof and I heard coughing and sneezing downstairs. "You're ignoring your patients."

He fidgeted. "They'll keep for a few…" he cleared his throat, "minutes."

I swung my feet off the bed. "I have to pack."

He went to the door and leaned against it. "Do you? You've already run once. Will this time be any better?"

I struggled to my feet and he sprang over to give me a hand. "Should I not have bought the clothing for you? Is that what this is all about?"

I sighed. "They _were_ expensive and lovely. I never had the luxury of buying clothing so… well, I always have to worry about the cost."

"If I didn't provide for you, what then? They'd all be chin-wagging just as much!" he huffed. "I've enough - money - if that concerns you. You'll not starve."

"I'm not saying that's the issue."

"Well then, what _is_ it?"

"I _need_ to be on my own. I'll _not_ be a _kept_ woman."

He sighed.

I bristled "What? What's inside that head of your Martin? You must have an opinion. Spit it out!"

"Alright. I fear that your childhood upbringing, combined with a general feeling of self-doubt, and fear… or uncertainty… of our… uhm… suitability… or stability… plus with your body teeming with hormones… has made you…"

"Well as for my _hormones of __**pregnancy**__, Martin_, you bloody well helped put them there!" I shouted and he recoiled. "Sorry. Didn't mean to yell."

He closed his eyes.

I badgered him further. "And this has all, what? Made me mad? Confused? Anxious?"

"Louisa… no, I wouldn't say mad, _not_ in the sense of insanity, more in the sense of anger," he muttered.

My headache was growing. "Do I make you happy, Martin? Because there are _times_ you bloody well don't make me very proud of you. And this is _one_ of them!"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water but then he cracked his neck and stood straighter. "You are upset. It may be best not to… make any… uhm, important decisions, when you are…"

"What, Martin? Pregnant? Cheesed off?"

He came back to the bed and looked me in the face, looming over me. "Louisa, what I said… in London still holds true. I do want you to live with me, or marry me, whichever you prefer." His green eyes bored into me and he wasn't being mean or stuffy or pushy. "But if you wish to go…" he stood and opened his arms. "Go."

I looked around his bedroom. "I can't stay here, Martin."

"You still haven't properly explained things to me. Louisa… I… don't understand."

"That's _part_ of the problem Martin! You just don't get it!"

He sighed, looked away and wiped at his eyes. "Go if you must then. You'll stay at the pub?"

"Thought so, yeah."

He stopped in the door and looked back at me over his shoulder. "Call if you… need, uhm, _anything_ - anything at all," he said softly. "And when the, uhm," he pointed to my large belly. "Time… comes, I'll be available."

"Thanks Martin." I went to him and touched his broad back and he stiffened. "I will."

His head slumped. "When you are ready I'll carry your things to the pub. And you may store in the house _anything_ you wish for _any_ amount of time."

"Martin, I am so sorr…" then my voice went.

His tortured eyes looked into mine. "Yeah, me too." He took one last look at me, went through and closed the door behind him.

Isobel Brown, my erstwhile bridesmaid (I won't count Pauline Lamb), told me that it did not matter what _other people_ thought about me and Martin. It's what happens behind closed doors that matters, and only to us.

The sight and sound of the closed door made me gasp for I realized that when he shut the door, it closed a chapter in my life - a very _rare_ and strangely _precious_ chapter. The baby kicked me and in return I crouched down by the bed and cried silently for everything had turned into a disaster.


	13. Chapter 13

Recriminations

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

I found myself holding a cup of white tea so I raised it to my lips and found it to be ice cold. I poured it down the drain and looking up saw my Aunt Joan staring at me through my kitchen window. "Oh, God," I muttered as I opened the door for her.

"What have you done?" she shouted critically. "Marty!" she yelled, her blue eyes flashing and her face ruddier than usual. She was so agitated I thought she'd strike me, so I stayed well back.

I sighed. "It's not _my_ fault."

"Oh?" she dropped into a kitchen chair. "I swear if you've harmed that dear girl!"

"I never touched her." I closed the door against the wind. "It's not like that, Auntie Joan!"

She lowered her face to the table, muttering, then raised it to me. "Why, oh why, do I have the feeling that _you_ have _said_ or _done_ _something_ _horrible_ to make the poor girl move out?"

"I, uhm, we… went shopping."

Joan stared at me. "Yes, I heard that. Well, at least she got some clothing off you," she sighed, wringing her read hands.

"Auntie JOAN! NO! It's NOT…" I had to take a deep breath and lowered my voice, "like that. If I knew WHAT to do and IF she'd let me do it, I'd _do it_ and in a heart beat. Surely you can see that?"

"Chalk and cheese, I've said that. But, oh, Marty what about the baby!" Her hand wringing went on. "That's my grand-nephew or niece she's carrying!"

"He, or she, is at the pub with it's mother. Louisa, uhm… I took her… there not an hour ago. Blasted place was filled with all locals, Bert and Al, Mr. Miller, Pauline, all of them; even Mrs. Tishell was in there having a brandy!" I lowered my voice. "So that's how you heard. Someone called you with the happy news."

"Well it wasn't Louisa, if that's what you mean. No, not her. But I will say that the person who called had a certain sense of smug satisfaction when they called. The country Cornwall telegraph may not always be exactly accurate, but it is swift. This, uhm, person, claimed that you'd thrown her out."

"She _wanted_ to leave. I couldn't stand in her way. Her choice." I shook my head. "That other stuff is just… _rubbish_; complete and utter…" I had to stop for fear of saying too much.

Joan pursed her lips. "_She_ moved out, then."

I barely nodded, trying not to croak. "Yes. Said she was leaving me."

"But not the village. She's staying in Portwenn."

"Yes, she is staying, I think. She pretty well spent her most of money when she went to London. She took a beating when she sold her car privately, and you know how expensive things are in the capital. Other than her half-time teaching position and the rent from her house, that's it."

"She'll need money," muttered Joan.

"I tried to give her some and she practically threw it back in my face."

"Oh? Yes, I suppose you would get that reaction from Louisa."

There was a rap on the front door and without my answering Roger Fenn came barging in. "Martin! Oh, sorry, I've got a bit of a problem. Hello Joan."

I sighed for one of the rules was that when office hours were done, they were done unless it was an emergency. "Medical?"

"No. I, uhm, can I come in? You see I've got these friends…"

Joan rolled her eyes. "I see that the Fenn family also heard the jolly news."

Roger stood there looking anxious. "Friends that happen to be you, Martin _and_ Louisa. Since I know both parties in this affair, I wondered if I might talk to you about the uhm… split-up."

" It's _none_ of your business Roger," I said angrily, "this is between me and Miss Glasson."

Roger peered around me at my aunt. "Is he always like this?"

"Usually," answered Joan factually. "You might have guessed."

Roger pushed back his floppy long hair from his face, where wind had whipped it. "Martin, speaking, well, _trying_ to speak to someone who is _quite intelligent_, surely there must be something we can do."

"_We_?" I asked.

Joan touched my arm. "Let the man speak. Go on Roger; how are Maureen and the boys?"

"Sick with the flu. But I left them on this crummy night to try and glue this broken mess back together. Martin, I consider you a friend, I do, and I'd not want a friend to suffer unduly."

"Suffer unduly?" I asked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know; regrets, sleepless nights, heart sick, worry; all the things that people feel when things are bothering them?" he smiled at me in my moment of turmoil and I wondered how he could stay on such a level keel.

I shook my head. "Louisa is, _huge news_, put up a billboard with flashing lights, STUBBORN, OBSTINATE, and she confuses the HELL OUT OF ME! So what can I do, Roger? Tell me? Please! I'm totally out of my depth here! Give me a case of streptococcus and I can diagnose and cure it, broken leg the same, even bloody hands and gashed limbs - but this?" I slumped down on the sofa.

Roger came to my side. "Need a drink?"

"No. I don't drink."

"We're not all diseases to be cured, Martin." Joan jumped up. "I'll speak to Louisa."

"No!" I stood. "She wants freedom and God knows what it will get her! She ran off to London when we didn't get married., and now to the pub! I don't think _she knows_ _what_ she _wants_! What next? Dash off to Canada?"

Joan stiffened. "It's like that Montgomery woman isn't it? Have you been badgering the poor girl about marriage? I must see that Louisa Glasson could never be badgered into anything, Marty. She has to make up her own mind."

"I told her that she could marry me or live with me; her choice." Joan's arrow about Edith Montgomery had shot home and it hurt, far more than I thought it would. Edith had left me for a career and now twenty years on Louisa was doing it a second time, but for what? There were parallels with the women, although they were as different as night and day, in form, intellect, and nature. But I loved _one_ and _only one_.

"But," smiled Roger wryly, "Martin you've given her just two choices, mate - A _or_ B. But _not_ choice C."

"Which is?"

Joan said, "You may be right Roger. I've known Louisa Glasson since she was born. You may have touched on it. That's the key."

"And C equals just _what_ Roger?" I asked.

He screwed up his face. "Mate, choice C is not A or B because it's _neither_ of the choices _you_ gave her. And I don't think it would be a choice that would be obvious to you, Martin."

I looked over to Joan. "Living in Portwenn does _this_ to a person? Makes them insane?"

"Martin," Roger's hand plopped on my shoulder, "you see things as white and black, right or wrong, healthy or sick. Seems to reason you'd not be aware of another… _alternative_. See… uhm… how to say this? Choice C is _not_ to marry you _or_ to _live_ with you. I know that sounds harsh. But that may be it."

"God," I said for Fenn was right. The third choice was to have _nothing_ to do with me.

Joan hugged me briefly while I stood frozen in shock. "Sorry Marty - I think Louisa's made her choice. She just doesn't want you. Or," she cleared her throat, "does not want _you_ the way you are. But you can't change."

More riddles. "What's that supposed to mean? And I can change! I _have_ changed!"

"Pish," my aunt said. "She doesn't think that you can be any different from the way you were in the fall. It's the same reason she called off the wedding. You're _you_ Marty - God help you and your Ellingham genes and ways - and there's not a thing _you_ can do about it!" Auntie Joan shuffled to the door while Roger patted my shoulder. "I am sorry Martin. But that's life. Learn and move on." The door opened and closed and Joan left.

Roger rubbed his hands. "Sorry mate. You may be bollixed up and Louisa is afraid of that. Or possibly, _she_ doubts _herself_. Getting married is a mighty big step!"

I sat there thinking. "Self-doubt can the _worst_ _kind_ of recrimination, Roger."

Roger stood there quietly for a minute and then told me, "This is a real pickle. One that may be rather unpalatable for any number of souls." He went on talking to me about kindness, understanding, walking a mile in someone else's shoes, patience, thoughtfulness, forgiveness; all the sorts of things one might hear in church or on a psychologist's couch.

But I was only listening with half a mind, for the thudding of my rapidly beating heart drowned out nearly all his words and in my mind's eye was the dreary blackness of a future without _Louisa_ and our _child_.

As that terrible thought went through my head I added it to _my own_ list of self-doubts - a list that was far too long and far too terrible to contemplate.


	14. Chapter 14

Roger

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

There was a knock on the door, and I hoped like hell it wasn't Martin. I rose slowly from the bed. "Who is it? That you John?" John Cadwell was the pub manager and he and his family had owned the building for generations. I could still hear the murmur of conversation downstairs and I was pretty certain that Martin and I were item number one on their discussion and gossip list.

"No," came a male voice through the oak door. "It's me, Roger."

I touched the door and checked to ensure it was locked. "Go away."

Roger asked, "Louisa? Can we please talk for five minutes?"

I didn't want to talk to Roger, or Martin, or anyone. "No."

Silence and I heard the floor squeak outside and another tiny rap at the oak.

"Please?" he asked.

I pulled open the door and there stood Fenn in an oilskin, which a concerned and apologetic look on his lined face. "I move out and not an hour later here _you_ are? I don't _need_ or want _advice_ Roger." I glared at him. "Shoo."

He pushed the door open wider. "I'll stay out in the hall, if that's what you want."

I put my face in my hands. "Come in, then."

He squeezed past and apologized once more. "Sorry to barge in like this."

"No, you're not. Did Martin send you?" I crossed my arms. "If he did, then get out!"

He held out his hands. "I surrender. No, Martin Ellingham did not send me, for I brought myself. In fact Martin expressly forbade me from coming here." He smiled. "But I came anyway."

I looked hard at him and didn't see any falsehood about him or guile. My back was aching so I went round him and sat on the bed. "You might as well have a seat."

He sat in the rocker in the corner, put his hands on his knees and smiled at me. "Now what shall we talk about?"

"Roger!"

"Oh, so I don't need to ask? That's good then for if this – uhm, _dustup_ – isn't fresh on your mind that I don't know what would be!"

"No Roger," I said with gritted teeth, "not a dustup. Coming back from London was a giant cockup now here I am," I prodded by prominent belly, "_fat_, and getting fatter by the _minute_, and I've barely got a job, no home, and…" I had to stop for I was on the edge of bawling for I was this close to calling martin and asking if I could come back, but that would be admitting defeat.

Fenn sighed. "A bloody mess."

I sniffled into a tissue. "Hay fever," I said to explain.

"Yes, the hay has flowered early this year. I can't say that I've ever known it to do so on March 1st! It's been going around, this batch of hay fever, for I just left Martin's house I could have sworn he has a touch of it as well."

I turned my head so Roger couldn't see my face, which now ran with tears. I had a second tissue which I put to good use. "Why have you come to talk? And your time's about up."

"Right," he couched. "What can I say, Louisa? I called this a dustup between you and Martin, but is it? Why else move out?"

I sighed. "I wanted to."

"Ah, now here you are, in your cozy and snug little pub room."

I turned to face him and he wrinkled his nose at the slanted floors, salt-spotted window overlooking the harbor, the cracked ceiling, wavy walls, and the rump sprung bed on which I reclined.

"Great digs," he laughed. "Reminds me of my college days."

"Now you're being horrible." The room was better than my ex-bedsit in London for it was cleaner and a hell of a lot cheaper, but it felt just as cold and grim.

"Louisa, your, uhm… parents… they fought a lot, and so did mine. When dad was working it wasn't so bad, but I got out first chance I could – and if I hadn't gotten good grades and a music scholarship, well… who knows?" He slapped his knee. "I'd be pulling on wrenches in a factory back in Birmingham."

"But you're a _great_ musician Roger, _and_ a good teacher."

"Just a _good_ teacher?' he laughed. "My point being that little things - old Mrs. Blizzard - we all thought she was a battle axe of a teacher - but my God the woman could teach music. That was Year Three, you know and I've never looked back. It set the tone; oh _that's_ a _good_ one, of my life."

Other than a history lesson I wasn't sure what he meant. "So?"

"Louisa, you can be… ahem, a bit… well, my suspicions are that you have just as many… fears is the word… as anyone. I do, Martin does, and you do too." He twisted his hands together. "Maureen and I had a huge row the other day about how the floors were cleaned. I'd just gotten them all clean, ready for the wax, when the boys came tearing thru splattering mud and muck everywhere. Maureen had the boys outside and had promised me she'd keep them out. You can just imagine the mess!"

I checked my watch. "Your time is about up."

"Maureen and I yelled and the kids cried as we did so. That made us stop and promise _never_ to do that again, the yelling, I mean." He stood, still wringing his hands. "Louisa, I don't know exactly what's going on in that beautiful head of yours but I do know that anger, like me blowing up at Maureen, doesn't last. It doesn't last. There are other things that do last and Martin…"

"So what's this have to do about me and Martin?"

Roger exhaled. "You and Martin… well, you're going to have a baby."

I laughed bitterly. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

"When the chips are down Louisa, Martin _is_ on your side. I'm quite sure that he will do… whatever you need to be done."

"Really." I stood ungracefully. "Time to go."

Roger looked at me with sadness while he tied up his coat. "Look, don't do anything hasty is all. Give it time - time to cool off, let the waves settle."

"Yeah, well this is a little more of a tempest than that in a teapot."

Roger gave me a smile, his head cocked to one side. "You believe that."

"I have to… and this is what I _have_ to do, Roger."

He hugged me briefly, his face grim. "Be well Louisa. And do if you need, no, _when_ you need something call me or Maureen."

I escorted him to the door. "Roger, I do appreciate it."

"Right." He pulled his hood over his head. "Once more _unto the breach_, dear _friends! _Good night then."

"Bye Roger. Tell Maureen hi for me and kiss your boys."

He turned and his voice breaking said, "Louisa, I was never a very good musician, our records flopped, and my first marriage was rubbish, and I've a grown daughter that doesn't care for me, then I was made redundant too young and guess what? A bloody miracle happened!" His face now shown. "I fell in love! And the woman I love is the mother of my twin boys! _And_ I am so damn _happy_! How lucky can one man be?"

I could only nod. "But I'm not you, Roger." I felt a kick right then. "And I'm lugging this lump around."

He touched my arm. "Louisa, Martin loves you and the baby. You have to believe that."

"You'd better go, Roger." I closed the door and locked it carefully. "And that's the problem, Roger, I know all that, and I love him too," I sighed. "Just not enough, maybe." A tiny tear leaked down my cheek. "If _only_ he'd left me in London," I whispered then. "It would all be so much easier."


	15. Chapter 15

Route

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

Everyone had an opinion, one way or the other, and they all seemed bent on informing me of it! Shopping at the Farmer's Market, buying fuel at the filling station, passing me in the street, I was either called a tosser, or Louisa was. I positively bristled and grew prickly when they called her that, for I… well, I was used to it, after years of training. But I found myself defending her and her actions time and time again. Soon it was apparent there was no place I could go in Portwenn that I'd be free of the controversy.

The first work morning after the bust up, Pauline arrived early, and sat herself down in my office. "Doc," she said softly, "are you okay?"

"Fine. Are you getting the patient notes ready?"

"I can't believe that after all you been through, this happens. Want a cuppa?"

I bristled. "Pauline, this is not the hearts and flowers club nor Portwenn's sometime tea room! Blast it!"

She rose, her beads and bangles clattering. "Well I could use some tea. You take it white, dontcha? Two sugars?"

I cut her off. "Pauline! Get out there and tend to your business! My business is not YOUR business!"

She gave me a sad look. "Poor Doc; poor, poor Doc. I bet you didn't sleep a wink last night."

"Pauline! I employ you for specific tasks, and you standing in front of me whinging about my personal affairs is _not_ in your job description!" But she was right about lack of sleep.

"All the same," she went to the door. "Who's going to look after you?" She sashayed away and I was not about to let her get in the last word. I fumed for a minute then went into the kitchen.

She was in the kitchen poring tea into two mugs. "Here Doctor Ellingham. White tea - double sweet - the way you like it."

I'd not had espresso that morning so I did take the cup, but grudgingly.

"Funny ain't it? You and me, working together day after day, so we should be able to lean on one another. Have each other's backs, you know? Buck each other up. Isn't that right?" She pointed to the sink where my lone plate and utensils sat from my solitary breakfast. "That is sad. Your little plate all by its lonesome - sitting in the sink. One shower taken in the house this morning, Doc. It breaks my heart - it really does."

"Unless you're about to have a heart attack, which I doubt, I suggest very strongly that you get a move on - this is work!"

She wiggled her red tresses. "Right you are, Doctor." She lifted her tea mug and sipped. "Think she'll come back?"

"I… do not know."

"You know, she's just down in the harbor, right on the Platt. It's barely a long football pitch to there. I bet if you hurried, and it's not much further than that to the school, so if you got a move on, you could go and see her - talk to her. There she is a woman all alone, lugging that lump around, I mean baby around - _your_ baby - _her_ baby - and…" she looked up at me with a seriously expression. "And you can't just let it go like nuthin's happened, can you?"

I curled my lip.

"Even you're not that mean, are you? Would you let her wander off like that?"

The front door opened and an old woman's voice called. "Hello? Anybody there? I've come early!"

"Better get that," I told her.

"Right." She turned towards reception.

"And Pauline…"

"Yeah Doc?"

"Uhm…" I lifted the tea mug. "Thank you."

"Yeah. Any time Doc."

I set the mug on the counter, washed my hands and went to face my first, and early, patient of the day.

That's the way it went, day by day, with some exceptions. Other than the free advice, or abuse, which the villagers were only too glad to bestow on me, I had a major problem.

That problem was singular and growing and it was borne by the Head Teacher of Portwenn Primary. Her name was Louisa Glasson, a woman of middle age, my former fiancée and a primagravida, for she was pregnant for the first time, and the pregnancy was due to our union the previous fall.

So while I tried mightily to focus on my daily efforts to keep the villagers healthy, a task that was nearly impossible considering the terrible predilections of the residents for odd and outré illnesses injuries, I was also constantly trying to map out routes in which I might not bump into Louisa. Some may find my behavior strange, if not shocking, for most would think that I, as a spurned lover and future father, should be striving to do everything possible to maintain, if not force, contact with Louisa. But I could not approach her. She had made a decision that she believed was the right one and I… tried to respect that decision.

Roger Fenn yelled at me, Penhale stammered and stuttered, Pauline begged me to say something to her, Bert Large shook his overweight finger in my face, and my Aunt Joan… my Auntie Joan vacillated from one extreme the other.

Joan Ellingham Norton, London born and educated, long time Cornwall resident, and widowed farm wife for over fifteen years, had ways to communicate. They included cold stares, verbal admonishments, or a look of exasperation on her ruddy and wind burned face like the one she was giving me just now.

"Auntie Joan, I…" my voice failed.

Joan looked to the side. "Marty."

I sat back down and faced her across my steel and glass desk. "What should I do? _You_ are obviously the _only one_ who can interpret the magic signs of the local seagulls, or the pattern of waves on the sea, or the scattered clumps of loose tea in the bottom of a tea cup. So tell me, Auntie Joan, what should I do? Oh great and wise one of the Ellingham clan!"

Joan looked to me and smiled. "I am very glad to see, Martin, that you have some backbone!"

Surgery was long closed so we could yell and scream, even throw crockery if that was warranted. But Ellingham's did not those sorts of things, at least not yet.

I sprang to my feet. "Auntie Joan," I started to rove about the room. "Isn't it bad enough that I asked her to marry, got her pregnant, then did NOT marry her, let her dash off to London, and then dragged her back here, where our relationship, _totally_ fell apart?" I wiped my brow. "And as for backbone, dear Aunt, I have sliced living bodies open, set them to right and sewed them up, none the worse for wear! And then I lost my one true calling, destroyed by a quirk of my mind and I ended up in this backwater village!" I bent down into her face. "So don't _you_ give _me_ any guff about the proper course of action or that what has happened is due to any lack of vigor, desire, or bravery on MY part!"

Joan's blue eyes flashed fire and then she smiled. "Good! Good Marty. Now get out there and fight for her! I know what you've been doing. The whole village knows it!" She slapped the table and laughed. "Slinking about, shopping at stores in Wadebridge, only going for a walk on the Coast Path late at night when you're not likely to see the girl."

"She's no girl, Joan; she's a woman, and a pregnant one."

"And carrying my great-nephew or niece. Phil and I tried very hard to have a baby."

I help up my hand. "Stop."

"No, you need to know. It was only after nothing worked, and you can believe me when I say that, that I started seeing John Slater." She twisted her hands. "And then I found that not even John could get me pregnant, Martin. Not even John." She sighed. "That was the end of my marriage, at least the sexual part. It was only the day after Phil found out that I was unfaithful to him that he got his diagnosis and the fatal prognosis. Your loving father soon extracted you from my loving care on summer holidays, and there I was with a dying husband, a sometime lover…" she sniffed, "and no _you_."

I watched as tears rolled down her cheeks. "Auntie Joan… don't."

"I'm an old woman, Martin, and my days are numbered."

"Don't say that, Joan," I handed her a tissue and she wiped her streaming face. "A woman of… yes, you are older. Stop that, Joan. You're fit, well, if you lost a few pounds, would make you…"

Joan stood up and hugged me, which I found it, as usual, hard to return. "Now, I need you to march yourself to the pub, or the school, or the post office, whatever or wherever she may be and talk to her. For me; if not for yourself, nephew."

"Are you finished?"

"Suppose so. I've blubbered and yelled enough for one evening."

"Sometimes… that is what is needed."

My Aunt Joan looked at me and smiled again. "Marty, I've done things in my time on Earth I am not proud of."

"Auntie Joan, you are a good person. And you are my family."

She stretched up and kissed my cheek. "Just you remember, dear boy, that the route we all take can be of our own choosing, or we can be like a rudderless fishing vessel." She went to the door and looked back. "You decide Marty. Pick a course; a route that that heart of yours deep inside that blasted Ellingham armor needs you to follow. You listen to that heart, and not some misguided path that you think you ought to follow."

She waved and left, and in her wake, I was left with my thoughts.


	16. Chapter 16

Reboot

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

I pressed the power button on my laptop and waited and waited and waited. Nothing. No little idiot light turned on, no whine of the hard drive, and no words or pictures on the screen. "Damn."

"Problem?" John Cadell asked me. "Dead computer?"

I was in his pub, it was late, and in the middle of the week most folks had gone home. I'd eaten and then taken my schoolwork down as there was no real table in my room. The scarred table top bore the marks of many hands, glasses, cigarettes, and things unknown. "Looks like it." I closed the lid, wiggled the power cord draped over the table, opened it again and pushed the power button. No luck.

John looked down at me. "Dead as mutton, then." He looked at his watch. "Important?"

"Yes." I'd wanted to check email and I could do it at school, but Mr. Creepy - Mr. Strain - had a habit of popping up nearby me at odd moments.

"You want me to call Al Large? He fixed my missus PC four weeks back. His dad's been running him ragged at the restaurant, but I bet he's still awake. Especially as I hear Pauline's been keeping him busy, if you know what I mean." He winked and grinned.

"John, what Al and Pauline Lamb are doing or not, I really don't care. But you really think he might be able to help?"

John went into the kitchen. In a minute he came back. "Al's on the way. Say's he was just watching football. Pauline's out somewhere."

"Oh, well that is nice."

In a little while Al came in carrying a grip and smiled broadly when he saw me. "Louisa, John says you got a dead 'un."

"Yep." I slid the hardware across the table. "Have a go."

He repeated the steps I had tried to no avail. Then he examined the power cord and sniffed at the box that held the transformer, I suppose it was. "Smells a bit ripe." He took a screw driver from his bag, unplugged the cord and pried the cover off the cord box. "Oh, yeah; fried. Look."

I could see a puddle of thick tarry liquid in the bottom which did smell burnt. "Well so much for that," I sighed. "No email for me."

Al poked around in his bag. "Hmm, I coulda' sworn I had a spare in here. Must be back at the restaurant. Mosta' these things use basically the same kinda' power pack. Same voltage, current, all that," he said and then he blushed. "Sorry Louisa, been reading up. You don't care about that rubbish; you just want it to work."

"Suppose the battery must be flat as well."

He smiled. "If the power wasn't charging the battery – phuftt – no juice." He stood up. "Wot say I trot back up there and see what I can do? Have a look see, and then bring it back."

I looked at my watch at it was past nine. "No, Joe. It's late; you don't need to do that. It will keep."

"Naw. Glad to help. Won't take a minute. Just a rubbish match on the telly. Pauline's at a meeting."

I had heard that Pauline had been attending some sort of self-help thing through the week. Word was that she'd developed a gambling problem and I could sympathize as my dad would bet his mates which seagull sitting on the harbor wall would fly away first. "I hate for you to go and come again. I'll go up with you, if that's okay."

His scruffy bearded face grimaced and he shook his head. "You don't have to."

I struggled to my feet. "Need exercise." I touched my expanding bump. "Getting fat."

"No, no! Louisa, you're not fat – you're pregnant," he said. "How much time now? Are you doin' okay?" he picked up his grip, the cord, and my laptop, cradling the stuff tenderly as he tucked it into his canvas bag.

"Oh, about five months," I said, and in my head did the conversion to weeks – twenty-two weeks. "So plenty to go yet. And, yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

We stepped out into a brilliant evening. Bright stars and a yellow moon over in the west lighting up the waves. It was cool, but a clear night and I breathed gratefully of the night air.

Al walked alongside quietly for a few steps. "Nice night."

"Good night for lovers," I said, that slipping out.

There was what I took for shocked silence from him, but then he said, "You do know it's not that many steps from dad's restaurant to the surgery. I'm sure the Doc is up there." He pointed up hill. "There's the Lexus."

I stayed silent for there were those moments when I did want to see Martin, like when the baby rolled over, or when my feet got cold in bed, or I was juggling my limited funds. There were other times too – like when I was lonely and scared – sort of like this moment. If the laptop was scrap I couldn't pay to have it fixed since the pub room was draining my funds faster than I could replace them. I'd taken to making sandwiches from the market, and buying fruit, to save cash but lack of a hot meal every day was tough lately. I sighed.

"Louisa, you do know that dad and me, and Pauline, was talking the other day…"

"OH?" I said crossly. "What glorious bit of wisdom do you have to impart, Al? What special nugget of superb advice do you have to give me? You and about a thousand others? Hmmm?"

Al stopped, shuffled his feet, and hung his head. "Louiser," he said softly, "nothing that grand. Just…"

"Just what?"

He sighed and put his arm around my shoulder, bending his face down to mine in the dark street between the pottery and the fish cellars. I could smell his male scent, and what he'd eaten for dinner – fish, chips, and beer. "Sweetheart. We… don't want you or the Doc to suffer – all this, this…"

"Anger, Al. Anger _is_ the word." I rested my head against his for a moment then stepped away. "Hate to say it, but anger."

Al laughed. "Lord, like that."

"Yeah."

"So, you or him? I mean, who's mad at who; or is it both?" He tugged at his jacket. "Cold out now; come on."

I followed silently trying to come up with a decent answer.

The restaurant was housed in Halwyn, a converted 150-year-old house on the edge of the harbor. At one time it was part of a ship yard, and the cliff face was scarred by the remains of the ways. Hard to believe they actually built ships hard against the cliff. Like most other buildings in Portwenn it was built of stones mortared together with some brickwork, which likely started as ballast in some load of freight. Bert had taken the rent on from the owners, the Vickerys, who lived way up in Bath, preferring the milder climate there. It was a good sturdy building and had been a private house, guest house, or restaurant off and on since the Great War.

Bert and Al, and Pauline when she moved in, were housed on the second floor, but Al had taken on the topmost room in the two-story addition on the end for a workshop. It was jumbled with tools, TVs, computers torn to bits, hand tools and bins of wire and other electronic pieces, as well as books on the same plus gardening, plumbing, and house repair.

Al sheepishly cleared a spot on the table he used as a workbench and sat me down on a stool where I could watch. He sat down himself on an upended crate. "Sorry about the mess. Always something going on – with Dad, the restaurant, the plumbing – even doing a bit of work for Joan Norton. Never a dull moment, right?" he laughed.

"I know what you mean." I turned and got a wonderful view of the harbor. "Wow, what a view. Gorgeous! This would make a fine bedroom."

"Yeah, well the view may be great, but the roof leaks and the windows rattle like mad when the west wind comes up. And the steam radiator up here packed up long back; a might chilly in the winter. One of those things dad and me been meaning to fix."

"Sure, sure." The house was silent, broken only by the far off snores of Bert who was flaked out on the sofa deep in sleep, and the low sound of the telly. The Bodmin Bandits were up a goal over the Liskeard Lizards, I had seen, when Al took me into the house.

Al stirred around and took the bad transformer from my laptop's power cord. "Rubbish that. I've got another one somewhere." That started a rattling search through piles of stuff, while he scratched his neck and muttered. "Ah, got one!" he held up a squarish thing.

"Can you fix it?" I squirmed on the metal stool and needed to wee from sitting on cold metal. "Al, could I use the toilet?"

"Yep. Go on down. Fourth door on the left and you'll have to jiggle the handle to get it flush all the way. Figures dad's very own toilet isn't quite right," he chuckled.

I grinned at him, for it was totally true to form. Maybe it was good that Bert had moved into serving food. "Right." I stripped off my long bubble coat and dropped it on the stool when I left Al.

"Toilet's just past mine and Pauline's room, along there. Can't miss it."

I found the toilet, did my thing, and flushed. It did take some effort to get myself rearranged with my stretch pants (which had an elastic belly panel, which I hated, but there was no help for it) and my top sorted. I washed my hands, noticing the taps dripped, and went into the hall. Looking down the way, I could see Bert had shifted on the sofa and was now sitting up blearily, but he was clearly groggy.

Al called just to me then. "Hey! I've got a coil of solder on my dresser, can you grab it?"

I cautiously went into the room, finding women's clothing scattered about, but it looked like most of the jetsam in here was female. I found the coil of solder where Al had said and was turning when I heard Bert calling.

"Sweetheart? Pauline?" He appeared in the doorway. "Hello, hello! Louiser? Wot you doin' here?"

"Uhm, Al's fixing my laptop?"

He gave me a fishy look. "Alright, if you say so."

"Just used your toilet; have to wee all the time. Al asked for this," I handed Bert the coil of solder. "It was on the dresser."

"Oh," he rubbed his face sleepily. "Sure, of course; right." He cleared the door. "Go on then."

I went back to Al and he had his soldering iron hot and waiting. "Ah, thanks." He bent to work.

"You know my dad did some radio work, sometime; course he usually mucked it up. But I used to sit and watch him do just what you're doing." I bent over the table and rested a hand on Al's shoulder. "Musta been about seven or eight."

Al laughed. "I got started on pipes of course." He applied solder to the tip of the iron and swiftly set the new transformer to rights. "There. Now, we'll see if it works." He clipped a test instrument to it. "Yep. Works." He took out my laptop, plugged the cord into a tap on the wall on and then into the side of the PC. "Now, let's see. Do the honors, milady."

"Right." I pressed the power switch and the laptop light blinked on, the fan started, and it winked to life. "Wow."

"Right as ran. Let me boot it up, do some checks and then reboot it, okay? Make sure nothing else is amiss."

"Okay."

"Just take a few minutes. I think dad has some biscuits down in the kitchen and I'm sure the kettle is hot."

"I'd not want to be a bother."

Al grinned. "No problemo. Glad to help out."

I patted his shoulder. "You're great."

He coughed. "You know, Louisa, about you and the Doc; Martin, uhm, you figure maybe you can sorta reboot things, like this laptop? Oh, you know, take a fresh start." He lowered his look from my face to my belly and back up. "I mean – _some_ things – _might_ be different… but nothing ventured. At least you're back in Portwenn."

I kissed his cheek. "That's a reward." I stood straighter and tugged at my top as it had got twisted.

A voice coughed.

We turned and there was Bert at the door with a suspicious look on his heavy face. "How's the laptop?" he asked.

"Fixed," I told him. "Al's a wonder."

Bert gave us a worried expression. "Al always was good with his hands."

"Thanks, Al. I _could_ use some tea," I said. "Bert?"

Bert turned "Oh yeah, a cuppa. Come on then."


	17. Chapter 17

Rage

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

Pauline slammed the front door and literally threw her large handbag at the desk.

I had just finished my morning espresso and was ready to go, lacking only patients, and I'm sure there many waiting in the wings, but it appeared I also needed a cooperative clerk. "Pauline. Morning."

She was not early this morning and clearly was in no fine fettle today. She switched on the computer savagely and snarled, "Your girlfriend is giving me a pain in the arse!"

"What's Louisa Glasson done to you, Pauline?"

She glared at me. "Maybe if you hadn't been so mean to her she'd have stayed living with you!" She opened a drawer, jerked out a pencil and snapped it in half, and then throwing the pieces into the bin, then raced towards me.

I stepped back in alarm, but she threw her arms around me and started blubbering onto my clean shirt. "Pauline?" I said trying to brush her off me, but she clung fast like a limpet.

"I…" she started saying between tears and gasps, "was… at the… GA meeting - Gamblers Anon - last… night! And while I was trying to set myself… straight… stay on the path… keep my nose clean… I hear Louisa was seen snogging in the street with Al!"

I pushed her back a few centimeters. "Don't be absurd!"

"Oh, yeah…" a long nailed hand came up and she honked into a tissue, "Mrs. Petrie and Miss Moll was working late at the pottery, at the bottom of the hill." She stopped and blew her nose once more, and that time I did push her off me. "I guess he likes fat girls!"

"Must you share your nasal secretions with me?" I stepped to the desk and lathered my hands with hand sanitizer. "God!" I brushed at my suit coat, shirt, and silk tie, fearing they were now absolutely populated with whatever microorganisms Pauline was carrying around.

Pauline stood forlornly, arms down at her side. "And the thought of Louisa mixing it up with Al doesn't make you mad?" She binned her used tissue and grabbed another, wiping at her face, where eye makeup dribbled messily.

That stopped me cold. "Ahm… I'm sure it was nothing."

"Miss Petrie heard her say, _lover_ to him." Pauline fell into the desk chair. "Thanks a lot Doc. Thank kew, very bloody much!"

"So this is my fault?" I shouted.

"Yeah. Yours."

"I'll have you know that I did not _want_ her to leave."

"Oh?" she peered up at me in a huff, her ruined makeup streaking her cheeks. "But you moved her down to the pub! Almost like you was throwing her out of the house!"

I sighed. "Pauline, I have… _tried _to explain, to you and a few others… that _she_ moved out. Stood right upstairs and told me she was leaving ME!" I turned and fled reception to my consulting room. It was with a small satisfaction that I rammed my head against the low door frame and sat there behind my desk stunned for a moment. If only pounding my head against object might solve the mess. Portwenn, biscuit tin town in the back of beyond, was a fishbowl as far as privacy was concerned. They might as well build all the houses out of glass and ban draperies to make things easier for rumours to spread!

A few minutes passed and I heard drawers opening and slamming in the other room as Pauline must have settled down and got to work, and I wish I could say the same. Al was seen with Louisa? At night? Snogging? Preposterous! Louisa had no other romantic attachments in the village; at least if she did it was a deep, dark secret, for in this place, it would be not possible to keep it secret! Just two old women spreading gossip, likely; stirring things up to see what would happen.

As I rubbed my sore forehead the door opened and Pauline peeped in. "Not your fault then."

"No, it's not."

"Ouch!" she was eyeing the bump on my head. "Want some ice for that?"

"No. Get the patient notes ready, Pauline. Time flies." I checked my watch for soon enough the deluge would descend.

She dabbed at her nose. "Sorry Doc. I just been worried; 'bout you, Louisa, and now Al." Her lip quivered.

"Pauline, I… am sure… that two people being seen in the street, at night, does not make a sexual assignation."

"Assign? Assign nation, what?" she screeched.

"Never mind. Shoo."

She left me and my first patient staggered in and it was Eddie Rix the large boatman. I sighed for the man was always getting hurt in sexual _doings_ with his wife. "Mr. Rix, what can I do for you?"

"Got a bad cold, Doc." He sneezed and I grudgingly gave him a tissue. "Can't breathe, head's all filled with gunk, and dizzy some times."

"Seems like I'm to be sneezed and coughed on today," I muttered.

He turned sarcastic. "Well, I am _sorry_ that I haven't a juicy burn for you to gawk at!"

"Yes, then, I recommend fluids, Paracetamols for fever, etc, if it is a cold. Decongestants, or a vaporizer, or just a lungful of salt sea air for stuffiness. " I took out my tympanic thermometer and stuck it in is ear. It beeped after a few seconds telling me his temperature. "No fever, Mr. Rix." I palpated his neck glands. "Slightly swollen in the neck."

"Me and the missus was… erh, well, you know… we sorta get into rough…"

"Stop!" I yelled not wishing to hear any of his sexual practices. "You are consenting adults, and if it is not abusive or involuntary, that is _your_ business." I listened to his lungs which seemed clear and took his blood pressure. "Just keep it safe, for God's sake!"

"There is one thing though Doc."

"What's that?" I washed my hands after touching him. "I noticed you were limping."

"Yeah," he sighed. There is that." He pulled up his pants leg to show an oozing contusion just above the ankle.

"Oh, God." I turned to be sick as nausea washed over me.

"Gloria done that. Got steamed at me, then she kicked me, hit me, and we weren't even playing. What right has she got to do that?"

I managed to suppress my vaso-vagal urge. "Do you wish me to call PC Penhale? Do you wish to make a report of domestic abuse?"

Eddie sat there looking stunned. "No. I deserved it. We were at the pub, you know, late at night, and there was your Miss Glasson, pretty thing; all popping out."

"She's not MY Miss Glasson!"

"Well I hear it's _your_ baby, so you must have been close; at least long enough to start that." He sighed. "I made a snarky remark to my wife and she kicked me under the table. Like to broke my leg then and there!"

"So this _was_ an attack."

Eddie sighed. "No! But can you patch me up? Gloria says I'm a dirty old man, and maybe I am, but she won't help me dress this. Been hurting like hell. She's mad as a wet hen. Say's I need a good thrashing for saying nasty things about Miss G like that!"

"Mr. Rix, I suggest that you restrain your prurient interests to your _own_ house and your spouse!" I told him through gritted teeth.

"Okay, okay, Doc. You asked. Gloria is right and I think I need help. Things at home been…"

I gloved my hands, took antiseptic and scrubbed at his torn flesh with a sterile sponge until all the crusted blood had come away.

"Kee-rist Doc! That hurts!" Rix yelled and it gave me some satisfaction to hear him yell.

Hippocrates would have blushed at my harsh actions. I gave the wound a splash of Betadine and he really screamed as the strong iodine solution hit his raw flesh.

"Owww! Almost like you meant to do that…" he stopped as he saw my fiery eyes. "Oh… right. I'll keep my mouth shut."

I sneered at him. "Good." I wrapped gauze on top of a sterile dressing atop antibiotic cream and added tape, plenty of tape, and bound it tightly. "I'll want you back day after tomorrow so I inspect the wound."

"Aren't you going to stich it?"

"No; nothing to stich as the tissue has been crushed."

"That bloody bitch meant to hurt me!"

I grimaced. "Next time, watch your mouth, which might be good advice if I _was_ the sort of man to give advice, but I'm _not_."

Eddie looked at me sheepishly. "I made you mad, didn't I?"

"Just doing my job." I binned the used things and paper wrappings, and washed my hands.

He wobbled to his feet. "I been bad Doc and I am sorry."

"And as for your sexual interests, I suggest that you may be well to see a specialist in behavioral treatment and counseling. This predilection for… uhm… things like that…"

He nodded his fleshy face wagging. "That might be a good idea."

"I'll research it for you; make some calls. We'll talk on Wednesday and bring Mrs. Rix with you. Set it up with my clerk."

"Thanks Doc. Sorry about the… other thing." He said from the door.

"Right," I said but all I saw was a red mist as my anger boiled over inside at the horrible man just imagining what things he may have said. Rage… the rage of my Ellingham temper made my head throb. Damn the man and all the rest like him!

Pauline opened the door. "Next patient?"

I breathed deeply and blew it out slowly. "Right," I told her but it hurt to stay in control.


	18. Chapter 18

Rescue

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated. **

The weather broke, turned sunny, and I felt fitter and fatter. Joan Norton apparently decided she would be my personal chauffeur, and try as I might, she would not take no for an answer. At the med center things went well, except for one little thing and that thing was a red haired woman named Edith Montgomery; yes, that Edith. She smirked at me as she came into the room.

"Oh, God," I muttered.

"Lisa, no, _Louisa_ Glasson," she said, recovering some level of professional composure. She looked at the nurse. "Hello. Things fine?"

The nurse handed her a clipboard. "Miss Glasson is rather on track for weight and size." Her name was Claire Tamworth and I liked her, but my hackles rose the moment I spied Edith.

Dr. Montgomery tapped the papers. "Still with Ellingham?"

I was not about to tell her anything. "Yes." I put a hand on my belly, for Ellingham was with me, at least half of his genes.

She gave me an exasperated look. "You do know that he and I were engaged at one time."

I looked at nurse Tamworth. "Is my appointment over; need me for anything else?"

Claire ducked her blonde head. "Yes, times up. Four weeks on, is your next appointment."

"Fine." I rolled off the exam table and tugged my top into alignment. Grasping my handbag, I stepped to the door. I heard the sound of feminine shoes behind me but I kept going into the hall.

"Louisa…"

I turned knowing it was Edith. "I'm not going to talk to you about Martin; not one bit."

"Ah, I am… well, a bit embarrassed about that." She blushed. "Heat of the moment, yes? But you can imagine I was shocked to know the mighty surgeon Ellingham had fallen so far from grace to that of a lowly GP?"

She had echoed something that I had thought about. When Martin asked me to marry him, and I told him yes, was it all from the adrenaline rush of seeing him save a life along with the heartache of dumping him not days before? There certainly had been some heat generated that night in my cottage, but there was tenderness as well. That was the moment that I really knew that I wanted to be with Martin - for the tenderness.

"Martin is a fine GP for our village and he's a very good GP!" I bristled, turning tenderness of the past for him into anger at this flame-haired woman who clearly wanted only to disturb me and tear Martin down. "And as for personal matters, I don't want to discuss that with _you_."

"My my, you are a _fierce_ rescuer!" she laughed. "Fine."

I turned on my heel and seeing Joan by a coffee machine, grabbed her elbow and marched her down the hall and outside. The hospital had memories for me, and they were mostly traumatic ones. Here was where Peter Cronk had survived his emergency, and I had told off that tosser Adrian Pitts for spreading the story about Martin's fear of blood.

Joan had her jaw set in anger and only when we got into her truck did she speak. "Don't tell me that Edith Montgomery is seeing to your care?"

"You know her?"

"Oh, my God yes. Martin brought out to the farm to meet me and Phil. I can't say that we were very impressed, but Martin was quite keen on her. He asked her to marry." She chuckled then. "Phil suggested that he take the woman out behind the barn and pretend that he had an accident with a shotgun. It would have solved a lot of issues. I had no idea she was in working in Cornwall."

I whipped my head around. "Really."

"Sorry to say that the woman broke his heart. When they graduated from school she moved to Canada or some such place. Needless to say Marty was…" she swerved to avoid a pothole.

"Not happy."

She laughed. "Martin is rarely if ever happy, Louisa. But you know that."

I bit on a cuticle. "I do; I do."

Getting back to school I found my pupils missing for Mr. Strain had taken them on a beach excursion. I found that very odd as it was not scheduled, and having recently gone on full-time when Tina Jones took medical leave, I fully expected my class to be waiting for me. The empty room gave me quite an odd feeling, so I marched myself to Rosscarrock Cove.

The short of it was that Mr. Strain had set my pupils to scrubbing rocks to 'clean the beach.' I came upon him while he had the poor little kids lined up like soldiers at attention while he marched back and forth berating them. When he heard my footsteps he turned with a mad look to his eye, and I knew that we were all in trouble.

I joined the work party, brush in hand, but Strain wasn't happy about that.

"Why are you helping?" he said, puzzled.

"You're Head Teacher, Mr. Strain," I answered as calmly as possibly feeling that keeping my head about me was not only necessary but useful. "Your school - you're the boss."

He smiled benignly. "Oh, so I am!" He clasped his hands behind his back and marched off to confront a seagull that had landed on a rock.

"Miss? Miss? I'm scared," whispered Tommy Grylls to me.

I patted his back and whispered back. "I'm calling for help." I slipped my mobile out and dialed Martin's surgery. "Pauline? I need to speak to Martin, straight away."

Martin got right on the phone. "Louisa?"

"We're having a great time here in Rosscarrock Cove!" I told him happily when I glimpsed Strain turn and head back our way. "Me and the kids are all down here helping Mr. Strain tidy up the beach!"

"Has he hurt you, or threatened you?" Martin hissed. "Acting odd?"

"No, but yeah, and yeah. We could use some help…" the phone slipped from my hand and I pushed it under a rock as Strain marched past.

Mr. Strain's face slipped from glee to scowling and back while more of the kids were having queer looks behind his back. But I kept scrubbing at rocks, urging the kids to do a good job, and a lot of other rubbish, finally getting them to join me in the Merrily, Merrily song. Luckily the charade ended quickly after Martin arrived and intervened.

Other than getting dumped on my backside by Strain and Dennis Tisch getting bent fingers when Martin stepped on them, things ended better than they might.

But Martin absolutely exploded when Strain pushed me backwards. "You can't just push pregnant woman over!" he helped me sit. "You okay? Any pains?"

"I'm fine," I said, but then we saw Strain march towards the ocean, arms outstretched. "Oh, Lord, what is he up to?"

Martin then had to wade into the sea after Mr. Strain when he apparently decided to walk to Ireland.

Penhale and Pauline showed up just then and tucking the deranged man into the Land Rover that problem was sorted. Was I scared, oh yeah I was, but when Martin came jogging onto the beach, it actually filled my heart with joy to see him, as we'd been working very hard to avoid one another. Yet when his tall, suit-clad frame appeared, I didn't fear anything that Strain might say or do. Martin had shown up and I thanked God for it.

"Mr. Strain became deranged from a medical condition - genetic - causing a buildup of chemicals in is blood that has unhinged his mind," Martin told me as Penhale tucked a foil blanket about the poor man in the Rover. "He'll need treatment."

"I'll say! The man is as mad as a hatter!" cackled Pauline. "And I never did like him. So Louisa, I imagine the Head teacher slot just opened up!" she added and nudged me with her elbow. "What you think of that?"

"Pauline, that's neither here nor there," I said. "Come on kids. Everybody get your shoes and socks back on!" I called out. "Back to school! Billy you get the brushes and Dennis, can you take the bucket? Good."

Martin pulled me aside. "He might have done anything. Are you okay? Any twinges, uhm… like that?" Seawater ran down his face and dripped onto this soaked suit.

I wiped sand off my dress. "Seem to be alright, thank you for asking." I nodded to his soaked suit. "The dry cleaner will have to work on that."

He took out his mobile and water ran from it. '"I doubt he can fix this, though."

"Dear. A new one is in order then."

He nodded and squinted at me. "Louisa… I… feared…"

I touched his hand and it was like ice. "You'll catch your death. I'm walking the kids back; so come on. You need to get out of that suit… uhm… into a hot shower… uhm…" I sighed. "You know what I'm saying."

He nodded and wiped water from his hair. "Seems this was necessary."

"Thanks for the rescue, Martin."

He ducked his head. "We need to talk."

I looked around where we had now an audience of my class, Pauline, Penhale and four fishermen. "Here, right now?"

He sighed. "You are correct."

We herded the kids along over the hill to school, while Penhale left with his siren blaring, although Martin had told him not to run it. Typical Joe - melodramatic.

Pauline was in the lead so Martin and I took up the rear of our impromptu parade. It was strange. Not an hour and a half ago I was defending Martin's reputation from Edith and then he had rescued me from my deranged boss. Seems we both needed rescuing from time to time.

The kids trooped into the school, Pauline walked away smirking at us, while Martin stood by my side looking like a drowned rat.

He sighed. "Talking."

"Yes." I felt a twinge and I grabbed his hand and pushed against my stomach. "Feel that?"

His eyes widened. "It moved. That normal?"

"Oh, yes. I can really feel it now. Little kicks and turns."

He quickly withdrew his hand. "I should dry off."

I looked at him and then on a whim, or something else, kissed his cheek. "A reward."

"Louisa…"

"Come to the pub after dinner. My room, right?"

His eyes narrowed. "Seven thirty?"

I smiled. "Yes."


	19. Chapter 19

Regard

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

I ate, did the washing up and once more checked my watch. Seven o'clock it read. I puttered around with the mail and paid some bills. The time had crept to seven ten. I walked upstairs and brushed my teeth, gave my hair a good brush, straightened my tie and went back downstairs. Promptly at seven fifteen I was locking the front door and setting off down the hill to the pub.

It was another typical night, and the smell of cigarettes, beer, wine, and food assailed my nose as soon as I stepped inside the place. There was a crowd throwing darts and shouting, a group clustered around a table at the back and a few by the bar, standing. So there were a good two dozen present to see me on this errand.

"Hiya, Doc!" shouted the barman. "Get you a water?" he sniggered. "You want to go all the way and make it a mineral?"

"Hey!" yelled Ross the surfer at the man. "He might not drink, but he's a right good doc, ain't that right, Doc?" Ross leaned on the bar and pushed at his chest. "How's your nose?"

I ignored him for the broken nose he'd given me I had almost deserved, although a blow to the face is never fun, getting in the way of his punch had been the one of the least sterling things I had done in my life. But I had treated him for his unusual breast growth, so that was a medical victory, at the price of nasal cartilage. There were a few other lower experiences and from the judgmental look on the faces of most of the pub occupants, they might have all wished to take a poke at me. I stepped over to the bar. "Miss Glasson - which room?"

"Medical emergency Doc?" Asked Bert who was having a beer, although since he served alcohol in his restaurant it was odd that he was paying someone else to pour.

"Maybe he just wants to see her, Bert, so you leave off," said Pauline who was suddenly by my elbow. She smiled up at me. "Don't you mind this lot, Doctor. They're just…"

"Drunk as Lords!" yelled a sod at the back, and he threw a dart across the room, barely missing me with it.

The barman pulled the dart from the wall. "Now, now, Ian. Enough of that. John Cadell don't like you lot tearing up his woodwork!"

Clearly it was another 'fun' evening at the Crab and Lobster. I sneered at the crowd. "Which room is Miss Glasson's?"

"Number four - top of the stairs. Harbor side." Pauline muttered. "I figured you'da known that, Doc."

I spun on my heel and the room went silent as I got to the steps. "What is it with you people?" I muttered. "Don't you have televisions and football games to keep you amused?"

"Nah, Doc!" yelled the drunk with the darts. "This is a helluva lot better that _Corie Street_!" the man sniggered.

I turned my head to reply but thought better of it, so I grasped the railing firmly and to a chorus of cheers, catcalls, and boos I went upstairs.

Number four, the number read under the patina of age, too much paint, and corrosion. The door reminded me of her bed sit in London. I took a deep breath, pulled down my coat and knocked.

The door flew open. "Hello Martin," Louisa said. "You _have_ come. I _knew_ you would." She was wearing a green and white dress with a white sweater over her shoulders. It suited her, yet her pregnant belly jutted out, larger than I remembered from that morning. She pulled me inside the room and closed the door.

I sighed just looking at her, registering the few contents of the room, but the fact that the small window faced the opposite side of the harbor and my surgery was framed in it, was noted by part of my brain.

"What?" she said.

I shook my head. "Any problems after the incident? With the uhm…" my hand waved around in the general direction of her midsection.

"No, no. All's fine… onboard… you?"

"None the worse for wear. But my mobile is packed up."

"Ah. Salt water - batteries - mobiles. I don't suppose a bowl of rice would help."

"Rice? How can rice fix a drenched phone?"

"No, I don't suppose you'd know about putting a soaked phone in a bowl of rice to absorb the water?"

"I fail to see how that would extract the salt crystals, Louisa."

She opened her mouth and closed it. "But that's not why I asked you to come."

"Why _did_ you ask me to come?"

"Well _you_ said we should talk." She sat on the bed. "Have a seat, Martin."

I saw two choices; the bed or the chair. I took the rocking chair, leaving a few feet between us.

"Ahh, right," she said and she patted her hair.

We sat like that in awkward poses; our silence growing, broken only by the mutter of voices from below with occasional shouts.

"Martin?" she said.

"Yes?" I put my hands together, fingers interlaced to keep from fidgeting.

"About today, I can't thank you enough."

"Doing my job. Mr. Strain had a complete psychotic break. Pauline will likely be correct in that he will not be returning to work anytime soon."

"Oh?" She crossed her arms and I observed how her breasts were more developed as she moved. "I hadn't thought about that. I suppose the Governors will have to replace him - at least on a temp basis."

I sighed. "That might be good, I mean, you'd be the perfect candidate for the job, given your history…" I was staring at her and she looked so lovely. "I mean… with the school. The Governors hold you in high regard, I'm quite sure."

She looked away.

"But this uhm, pregnancy, think it might slow you down? On the job, and all, hard for a woman do it on her own," I added.

"Oh?" a well arched eyebrow rose and she glared. "Wot? You think I can't do it on my own?"

"No, no; not what I'm saying." I tried to pour oil onto the waters. "It would be difficult…"

"Martin," she hissed. "Shut it."

I sighed once more and stared at my shoes. The bed springs squeaked as she moved so I looked up. "Louisa, I'm not saying these things to upset you. I'm merely stating some of the facts…"

"MARTIN!" she shouted. "Just…"

The mumbled voices downstairs stopped at her shout.

"Bugger," she said. "Now _everyone_ will be listening," she said miserably.

"Uhm, I fairly certain that… here… in the… uhm… village…" I stuttered and stammered, "We have… not a bit… of privacy. Not one bit, I fear."

She lowered her head and taking a tissue started to dab at her face and then she looked at me. "Hay fever."

I nodded. "That's been going… ahem… around." That was a lie, for hay fever hit in late summer.

The silence fell like a wet blanket on us and Louisa broke it. "Martin, you said we should talk. So talk."

"You just told me to shut up."

Her turn to sigh. "Yep. So here we sit, telling each other to shut it."

I rolled my eyes. "Alright then, I was doing some research - for a patient - on behavioral modification, and as you seem so set on going it alone…" I had to look at the window and blink rapidly to compose myself. "I found some information that _may_ enable me - given the right circumstances - to uhm… return to surgery."

There I'd said it for it for it had been nibbling at the edges of my mind for weeks. Since Louisa did not wish to be with me, either married or as a partner, then I may as well try to move on and abandon this wretched place.

Louisa sat on the sagging bed looking as if I had just poleaxed her. I saw her lip quiver and she dabbed at her eye once more. "That's _your_ choice, Martin," she said but it came through gritted teeth and sodden eyes.

"Yes. All things considered. That's why I wanted to speak to you. If you get the Head Teacher job, and you ought to, then you will be in better financial shape," my voice dropped, "since you do not wish to accept any money from me."

She exhaled noisily. "Fine. If that's what you want, then go for it. Don't let me," she coughed, "and this little thing," she rubbed her abdomen, "interfere with your plans."

"Louisa, I _don't_ have definite _plans_. I was merely stating that there might be a possibility, that I could…"

She struggled to her feet. "You know what Martin! I wanted you here so I could talk to you about us, about the baby, about… EVERYTHING! I was even going to tell you about that horrid Montgomery woman!" Her face fell. "But… now you'd better go."

"Edith Montgomery? What about her?" I was puzzled. "She did say she worked at hospital here."

"Edith was horrid, nearly as horrid as you're being!" She pointed to the door.

"Louisa… Tell me about Edith."

"No! You Martin, can call your ex-fiancée yourself on your own time!" She took door in hand. "Right now, dear doctor, I do not hold you in very high regard at all! Now git!"

I stood. "Louisa this is not how I had hoped we might be able to…"

Her face was grim, and there was a blood vessel in her neck that I saw pulse. "Not now, Martin!"

This had been a horrible chat. "I'll leave then." I stepped into the hall. "Louisa… I…"

Her pretty head whipped to the side and her ponytail flew about. "And the _worst_ thing, Martin, is I was going to ask you to stay the night," she said sadly.

"Stay?"

"Yeah, with me, in that bed! Now good night!" She slammed the door and I'm certain that everyone with one partially functioning ear within a five mile radius could hear it.

I slowly descended the stairs into an expectant crowd who stared at me in a 50/50 mixture of shock and glee.

Ian, the inebriated dart thrower, stood at the bar and laughed. "Good old Doc Martin! I suppose _you're not_ getting _lucky_ tonight, are you?" He drank off his beer. "Tosser."

I went into the quiet street and walked home, keeping eyes front, but my attention was fixed behind me in that upstairs room.


	20. Chapter 20

Reprimand

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

Time passed and I kept waddling from the pub to school and back, watching my coffers sink a bit lower. The Governors eventually made me acting Head Teacher, although I did hear talk that there were those who tried to block the promotion, so the extra money made a huge difference and I felt I could make some headway on the financial hole I was in. Worse, Stu McKenzie let it slip that Martin was most vehement in his opinion that as a pregnant woman, I was assuredly NOT fit to be Head Teacher once more. All I could do was fix a smile on my face and thank the three Governors who came to speak to me with the good news. Martin, of course, was seeing patients and could not be bothered.

Still, there was a distinct feel of accusation that hovered about me in my daily routine. From John at the pub to my fellow teachers to passersby I was snubbed, ignored, or insulted. I tried to stay atop the waves of advice and chaos, rather like when I tried surfing, but things kept piling up, one after the other.

Joan approached me in the Farmer's Market with a grumpy attitude about her. "Louisa." She seemed stiff and abrupt, but Joan had moods like her nephew, although Martin seemed to be hard-wired to the prickly position.

"Hi Joan," I said cheerily.

"I suppose you'll be wanting a ride tomorrow?"

"If you could give me one, or I could use a taxi."

"Yes, well, I _do_ have to pick up fencing. I can just fit you in."

"Thanks awfully." I sighed as it made life a lot easier to have transport and not rely on the whims of North Cornwall taxis, which were few and far between.

"Speaking of _awful_ - have you spoken to my nephew in the last four weeks?"

I pulled her around the corner to the vegetable aisle which was empty. "Joan, I _will_ admit that I was pretty terrible to him. But he was going on about how hard things would be for me…"

"Stop right there, Louisa! So you think you can just waltz along the next few months, have a magic and painless delivery of my grand-nephew, and then pick right up where you left off?" She crossed her arms. "For a smart woman, you can be very stupid about this." Then she gently touched my belly through the pregnancy jeans I was wearing. "Louisa, please, please; I beg of you! Don't assume that he doesn't care - and that I don't care! We both do! The whole village does! If you weren't so pig-headed at times…"

She stopped as I scowled at her.

"That's it, isn't?" she went on. "My God Louisa, you are just as stubborn as Martin. No wonder you're all muddled."

I was startled by her accusations, but they did hit pretty close to the mark. "Joan, I'm having _my_ baby, by _myself_ and I'll raise it, on _my own_. Bert did it, my dad practically did all by himself, and I can as well."

Her piercing blue eyes stabbed me. "Well, that's it then. No hope for Martin. So any feelings of affection, gone," she snapped her fingers, "just like that?"

"Joan, look; I have to go." All I wanted was to get away from this little chat.

"And you do know he's been trying to work himself back into surgery?"

My turn to sigh. "Heard that." He'd not only told me but it was said he was seen toting bloody bags of meat back to his surgery for training sessions.

Joan gave me that stare of hers. "There's nothing _here_ for him anymore, Louisa. Or at least that's what he believes."

I sighed as I needed to end this conversation. "Joan, would one o'clock tomorrow work?"

"That would be fine, Louisa." Her lip trembled. "Just… don't do anything hasty."

I paid for my groceries and went down to the pharmacy, my heart racing from the encounter, and that's when Mrs. Tishell, with nose hoisted firmly in air, attacked. "I hear you and Doctor Ellingham are still... well shall we say, _separated_?"

"Mrs. Tishell, I really don't think that is any of _your_ business!" All I wanted was to buy tissues and constipation aids and get out of there. I put the items on the counter. "I'll pay for these please."

"Oh?" she slid around the counter like a snake. "Poor little baby, _never_ to know his _father_."

I answered her through gritted teeth. "It's not like that at all! Now if you would…"

"Oh? But it is, isn't it? You moving out, leading your own life, making plans…" She adjusted her foam neck collar. "Rather like me and Clive."

"Clive?"

"My husband. He's off on the oil-rigs. He's a senior safety officer. It's up to him to keep the workers safe."

"I don't believe I've ever seen him."

Mrs. T turned and leaned against the counter. "He's out there," she said airily. "Out where the sea runs free and the air is fresh and clean! While I'm…" she paused and scanned the shop, "here on my own."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh, no! No! I'm quite happy being on my own, running my little shop, assisting the doctor."

I sensed that we were getting off the mark, but at least her tone had changed. "My things, please?"

"_Quite_ happy actually."

I picked up a magazine and put it the other things. It said 'Family' across the face. "I'll have this as well."

When Mrs. T laid eyes on the magazine her mood changed. "Family… family? Oh yes, shame you won't have that will you?"

I rolled my eyes and pulled out my cash card and tried to give it to her, but her demeanor shifted once more.

"When we have impressionable young children, and teens, seeing our new Head Teacher, parading her _pregnant_ self about the village bold as brass, what must they think? Not married; acting like it's perfectly alright to be pregnant and NOT married? What do _you_ think _they_ think?" Her tone was snarky and mean.

On the heels of Joan's words now I was _very_ cross. "As I've told you and any number or people, Martin and I are fine with it! And, I don't like your tone at all!"

She rolled her eyes. "Ah, well, society is just going down the drain, that's what I say! Don't you think Louisa, it might be better if you were far away - far away? Taking your illegitimate baby away? No, no that would be awful," she dipped with insincerity. "Have you considered adoption; giving it away?"

"Mrs. Tishell, please stop."

"No, no that's not right, but I'm sure that would any number of women, _married_ women, who could take on that task! Carry that burden for you?" Then she snarled. "But whatever you do…"

I heard the shop door open.

She grabbed my sweater and practically shook me. "Don't pull the _finest_ doctor that Portwenn has ever had down with you! Let me have your baby, Louisa, let me…" Sally's face had changed from scowling to simpering. "Please?"

A deep voice boomed out in a commanding tone. "Stop right there, Mrs. Tishell!"

It was Martin. "Oh… hi, uhm, Martin," I squeaked out. Surprised, yet grateful he was here for Mrs. T was creeping me out far more than Strain ever did. I pushed her hands away.

Martin continued bellowing. "Mrs. Tishell your job is to dispense the medicines that I prescribe and to sell to the citizens the non-medical items that they require! Your job is NOT to BERATE Louisa…" he stopped and lowered his voice, "or anyone else. Got it?" He glared at Mrs. T who wilted visibly.

"Thanks, Martin," I said for it was great to see him.

"Have you paid for these?" he pointed to the items on the counter.

"Just about to," I answered.

Martin harrumphed. "Now Mrs. Tishell, would you please not badger Miss Glasson in future?"

Our village pharmacist looked quite obedient. "Yes, Doctor, so sorry - I was…"

"Enough," he commanded and she was silent.

I gave her my cash card for the purchase. "Card?"

"Oh, yeah, mind you, I wasn't saying those things… just one hears things, you know! Ha - ha! Small village and all that!" She manipulated the register. "There." Sally scooped the things into a bag. "Come back anytime," she said sweetly. "Just a joke, Louisa? What a poppet you are!"

"Now, Doctor, what can I do for you?" she asked, her voice syrupy.

I left the store, feeling gooseflesh after that odd moment. I closed the door behind me and tried to think how I might arrange to never go in there again. Weird.

The shop door banged open and Martin practically flew out. "Ah, Louisa. Sorry about that… I've no idea what that was about."

"Oh," I sighed, "just more of village moralizing."

We stood there in the street while he shuffled his feet and I chewed my lip. "Martin, at the pub last month…"

His face lit up. "Louisa, yes, we need to talk…"

Then his damn mobile rang and of course he answered. "Ellingham. Yes? What? Oh for God's sake! No! No! Over dosing your child with aspirin for a fever can lead to any number of medical issues! Things like Reye's syndrome…"

I could tell he was off. "Bye Martin." I walked away regretfully and I'm not even certain he knew I'd left. It was another of those moments when the Fates laughed at us, driving the wedge deeper.

On the next day, Joan took me into Wadebridge for my OB visit. That started out well, except that Edith Montgomery was in attendance. Not only was she off putting, but she actually started digging around asking me when Martin and I had made love, but she used the term _had sex_.

I told her I hadn't actually written it down in my diary, and then found that she wasn't some sort of pervert, but was concerned about the size of the baby. "Miss Glasson, I am concerned that your baby may be SGA - Small for Gestational Age. I am asking if you got your dates right. And knowing Martin, as I used to, ahem… I'm pretty sure that point in time was memorable; shouldn't be hard to recall."

I squirmed under her steely gaze. "Well, I didn't actually put it in my diary."

Edith looked at me with her blue eyes under that orange hair. "Come on."

"Ahm, it was October 11th and a couple of times after." I hated to tell her that, for some things should be private and secret.

"Oh?" She blinked rapidly at me and her mouth twitched. "Fine. There that wasn't so bad, was it?"

If the woman had expected me to tell her it was wild weasel sex, or a long romantic interlude, I'd not say, for it was not one or the other. It was sort of…

She interrupted my train of thought when she put the cold scan head back onto my belly once more. "See? There. I need to get some measurements."

"What's wrong?" I asked, twisting to see the screen.

"Be quiet. Stop squirming!" She had trained in the same medical school as Martin, so they both must have had a class in Applied Rudeness, both _Basic_ and _Advanced_.

Claire Tamworth said, "Miss Glasson, don't worry."

I almost cried.

Joan was outside and I ducked the scan in my handbag. "Thanks awfully for the ride Joan."

She smiled at me as she leaned against her pickup. "No problem, Louisa and I mean that. Everything fine?"

"Sure. If only…"

"What? Something _is_ wrong, isn't it?"

"No," I lied. "I just wished I wasn't living at the pub."

Joan sighed. "No chance of you moving back in with Martin, I suppose. But I have one thought. I know it seems far-fetched, but do you know Mr. Routledge? Get in, and we'll talk."

"Is her still alive? I didn't know he was about. He must be ancient."

"Oh yes, and feisty as ever." She slammed her door, started the motor and put the truck in gear with a grinding screech. "Years back when he moved to Falmouth for work, his second cousin, or was it third? Anyway she took on his house, and it's just behind yours, that is your old one. The old fellow moved back when she got married. He's there all alone, and I've heard from the Church Women's Circle that he's getting quite doddery and would love to move into care, if he had someone to rent his house off him."

"Bit small isn't it?"

"Well…" she grinned at me. "Plenty of room for you and a small baby, when it comes."

The idea had merit; right by the school, handy to everything, and I knew it had a fine harbor view. "That might work."

"Fine," Joan merged into traffic and I could have sworn that Martin's Lexus passed us in the other direction. "What say I drop you off with the old goat and you can have a chat with him?"

I chewed on a fingernail and then put the hand under my thigh to stay away from it for the worry about SGA was still in my mind. "Might work." I was also sad and so wished I could open up to Joan about the medical exam.

"Don't worry Louisa. And dear?" At least Joan seemed to be friendlier than yesterday.

"Yes?"

"Let me give you a stern bit of advice. If he offers you something to drink, make sure you wash the mug."

"Oh, sounds, lovely."

Joan got out on the main road and we heading north to Portwenn, but I wondered what sort of errand Martin was on.


	21. Chapter 21

Recognition

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

The meeting with Chris Parsons came on the heels of my latest meeting with Dr. Milligan. Milligan had been consulting, or perhaps counseling me was more accurate. The man steepled his fingers as he leaned on his desk and peered at me with interest. He'd just asked me how I was.

What was he asking? Was I well fed, or fit, or… I sighed.

"Difficult to say?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Dr. Ellingham, your problem is not that unusual. Granted, not as mundane as a fear of arachnids."

"Most people with arachnophobia do not vomit, pass out, or suffer palpitations," I observed.

"True, but I have treated an air force pilot who developed a fear of the smell of jet fuel."

"Bit of a handicap." I crossed my legs and check my watch. "This is a waste of my time."

Milligan chuckled. "Time; _time_ is very important to you isn't it."

"Time is what separates us from the quick and the dead." I tapped my watch. "If your heart would stop, your brain would die in less than five minutes, say four and a half. So - yes time is very important."

Milligan smiled slightly. "Yet I suspect if I collapsed you'd leap on my chest and start CPR."

"I've done my share of chest thumping, yes."

"So, when you are in the middle of 'chest thumping' as you call it, what happens to time; that is _your_ sense of time."

"I never thought about it. What has this to do with my, erm, issues?"

"Martin, when you're in the moment - say resuscitating a fallen fisherman, or whoever, I suspect that time seems to stretch. The effect is fairly well known, yet not well understood."

I checked my watch. "Time's about up."

Milligan laughed. "That's my line. But let's go on. When that fisherman's pulse is faltering, his eyelids flickering, as his brain and body struggle to hang on, you're in your element."

"Of course. That's when… uhm… I can use my skills."

"Ah, medical skills." Milligan leaned back. "That's all?"

"It's what I'm good at. Surgery… surgery was… the only thing I was ever good at."

Milligan leaned back and stretched. "Only thing?"

"Yes…" I jumped up. "Milligan this is a waste of time."

Milligan smiled. "No. Think about my question again. What else are you good at?"

That stopped me. What else?

"Must be something - something you also care about."

"Oh, I repair clocks."

"Ah, yes time again. Clocks and such."

I sighed. "Yes."

"And you feel that repairing clocks is like performing surgery."

"No," I humphed. "Granted the instruments are similar, not for cutting, but there are forceps, pincers, plus small wrenches and screwdrivers. Those might be construed as scalpels."

"So working on clocks is a replacement for operating."

"Don't be ridiculous!"

Milligan leaned forward, his face beaming. "Prove me wrong."

"I was repairing clocks, or trying to, when I was eight. So your supposition is incorrect!"

Milligan nodded. "Yet repairing clocks is very similar for the small instruments and fine motor skills are just the same."

"Oh."

Milligan smiled. "Martin there are depths to each of us that can be hidden or not. I think that if you would admit it there are many things that you are good at."

I stood. "Milligan this is…"

"Rubbish?" Milligan stood. "You mentioned once that you had planned to marry."

"We… called it off."

"Ah. Down in Portwenn."

I nodded and tried to head to the door, but Milligan beat me to it and barred my way. "Move," I told him.

"Still see her? In the village?"

I closed my eyes. "That's the thing."

"Oh," he said. "Tough that. Local woman?"

"She's the Head Teacher - _acting_ Head Teacher of Portwenn Primary," I said. "She's good at it."

Milligan leaned against the doorframe, further blocking the portal. "You sound quite proud of her; her accomplishments."

"She is a very good teacher," I said but had to stop for my throat froze in fright of what I might say next.

"I sense that the marriage proposal did not end quite amicably."

"You're wrong!"

"Oh?"

I sighed and closed my eyes. "Milligan, you're poking around where you do not belong."

"It's my job - the only thing I'm good at," he replied.

My face screwed itself up in consternation. "I must go."

"This woman…"

"Louisa Glasson."

"Miss Glasson then; have you known her long?"

"Over three years." I felt the weight of that time descend on me, and felt it had all been for naught. "And I fear it's been wasted."

"Oh God," he said. "The time was wasted?"

He'd maneuvered me and I wondered how much he knew. "You've been checking up on me."

"Yes, I did call Chris Parsons, not telling him your name. Just asked about North Cornwall communities and so on and Dr. Parsons knows a lot about the area."

I sighed once more. "So…"

"He mentioned you of course. Part of the profile Ellingham - I need it to understand where my patients are heading or coming from. He told me…"

"That I was a failure in London - a nervous wreck when I came out here to hide? Blast."

"No, Martin, not at all. He says that you are the finest _doctor_, surgeon or otherwise he has ever known."

"Chris _would_ say that. Did he also tell you that not only was I to marry Louisa, but we got pregnant, she fled to the capital, but that she moved back with me from London and is now trying to avoid me? Had some odd row which she won't speak of and she moved out? Says she wants nothing to do with me! How can she keep doing that in a village of less than a thousand?" I took a deep breath. "And I don't have a bloody clue what I'm to do about her and _our_ baby?"

Milligan came to me and looked very intently into my eyes. "No, Martin. He did not tell me any of that. But you just did."

I stiffened my back and pushed past him to the door.

"Martin, we can talk about it right know if you want to. I don't have any other patients for the rest of the afternoon."

I stopped with my hand on the door handle. Milligan seemed at times both snake charmer and faith healer, yet by his help I was able to slice beefsteak and raw liver into pieces without throwing up. I had to give him that much recognition.

"Martin?" Milligan asked. "Do you want to talk about it?"

My hand felt sweaty so I slowly released the knob and turned towards him, wiping my palm on my trousers.

"Please, have a seat," Milligan said. "It won't hurt to talk."

Unbidden my feet and legs carried back me to his desk and I sat down.

"Now," Milligan said. "Start at the beginning."


	22. Chapter 22

Routledge

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

The old man stank of beer, spoiled food, and urine and I found it hard to separate what part of the cottage came from his dirty and aged body and what emanated from the overcrowded surroundings. It was cluttered mostly, and a bit dusty, but there was a fusty smell in the house that created a miasma that underpinned everything.

I tried to breathe through my mouth, trying to smile at the old man. I vaguely recalled he'd spent his life building ships, and had been an iron worker. Now he was a sad and shrunken version of the man he used to be. His grizzled face stared at me vacantly and his hair looked like a rook's nest. But as for the smell… it made itself known from nose to the back of my throat and it took real will power to keep smiling and act pleasantly to the frail old man.

"So Lisa," he shouted as he was hard of hearing, "how do you like my little house?"

I fiddled with my hair, saying, "Oh it is lovely. And that view is just so… so, great! And my name is Louisa, Louisa Glasson."

His rheumy eyes squinted at me. "You're Eleanor's girl. Heard she went down south."

That had been over twenty years ago. "Yeah, she did."

"And your dad?"

I was not about to tell the pensioner of all my family troubles. "He's away as well." He had no need to know dad was the guest of Her Majesty in a lovely prison.

"Shame," he mumbled, "and a husband for your baby?"

"No. 'Fraid not," I told him, keeping my tone even.

His shaky hand patted my knee and I almost jumped. "Like our second girl. But it came out all right in the end. I couldn't stand the fella myself, but she liked him." He sighed. "Families can drift off."

"Yeah, they can. But this is a _lovely_ cottage. I'd quite like to live in a home like this."

"Ah," he groaned after sitting down his beer and belching, "not many live here anymore. Mostly rich Londoners and Scotts! A real shame! Time was this was a real village! But now…" he winded once more, "Sorry, Lisa, I'm just an old man… recalling the old days. Why you could walk these streets and the crowds! Now - phufttt! Empty."

"Yes, yes," I interrupted, "sorry, but I have to ask, what is that smell? The sort of…" I coughed.

"Oh, I dropped a kipper down behind the cooker." He wrinkled his nose. "I can't shift it; I'm too old and weak, and that's why I've been trying to get that tosser, Doc Martin, to send me off to a home! He says I'm fit but I can't take care of myself! I been calling him day and night telling him I need medical care!"

"Oh, dear. That is too bad," I said trying not to gag at the thought of a dried herring, now rotting between the wall and the cooker. Being able to imagine the fish down in the dark with who knew how many cockroaches scampering over it somehow made it worse. I stood and went to the door, opening the top half. "There, isn't that better?" I breathed gratefully and started scraping the dried and caked dishes into the bin next to the sink counter. "But I think that Doctor Ellingham is a good doctor." The baby kicked and I rubbed my bump. "Sorry, the little one does that sometimes."

"Oh, they do." Mr. Routledge pulled his tattered dressing gown about himself. "I'm too old and I'm too cold. That's why I keep the door and windows closed up tight. You know sometimes, when I'm too weak to climb the stairs I take a wee in the sink! Isn't that awful?"

I gently set the dirty plate I was holding back on the counter. "What would it take for you to move?" I said as I quickly went back to the chair by his, putting as much distance as I could from the sink.

"Well, money would help, and I really couldn't just let anyone rent this place." He sighed. "A lot of memories. And I'm just an old man, Lisa, all alone - all alone. Wife dead, daughters long gone, grand-kids living who knows were… hard to see it end like this. I'd not want to rent to some Germans or Spanish; or worse some hoity-toity solicitor or writer!"

"That would be a _shame_. So, what if I would rent from you?"

"Oh?" He cast a hopeful look at me. "You Lisa? Do you live in the village?"

"Louisa… and I do live here."

"So you've got money. I'd have to think about it. I couldn't just let anyone have it."

"Some," I coughed as the smell was getting to me. "But what say I come by, oh, once in a while, and help out? Clean a little - would you like that?"

He smiled. "I like you Lisa. You are a nice person. A lot nicer than your mum."

"Yeah…" I said, thinking of the letter I had just mailed to her a week ago. "Let's not talk about her."

"Okay." He tapped the last few drops from his bear can and set it down. "I'd sure like a good hot breakfast in the mornings."

"Perhaps I could help you there." I smiled at Mr. Routledge and then he laughed.

"Tell you what? You get me another beer from the fridge… and… I'll think about renting my house. Would you like that?"

"Sure," I stood and waddled to the cooler, giving the sink a wide berth.

"Lisa?"

"It's Louisa, Mr. Routledge." I pulled the door open and almost heaved at both the sight and smell that came out. I pulled a beer free, and slammed the door. "I think maybe this needs a good cleaning - all of it." I skated back to him and set his beer down. "There, how's that?"

He popped the top and took a long pull. "Your baby, is the father that Doc Martin?"

I squirmed. "Oh yes, as a matter of fact he is."

He laughed. "I can see why you didn't marry him!"

I forced a smile. "Let's talk about your house, shall we?"

He grunted. "I could tell from the way you acted when I called him a tosser the first time!" He slapped my knee and it made me jump. "Now about the cleaning… when can you start?"

I could only smile as I had got part of my goal, but how could I get a kipper out from behind the cooker? "How about right now?"


	23. Chapter 23

Respect

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

Chris Parsons was in his office and he was not happy I was late for our meeting. "Mart? You're late and that's not like you - not at all. Something's happened," he stated.

"No," I said, but I am certain he saw through me.

"Your message said an hour." He pointedly looked at his watch. "It's been two. Luckily I had the afternoon free; that is no meetings, so I had time to work start working on annual reviews of the staff."

I had stopped in the washroom downstairs and had removed my jacket and tie and had washed my arms, face, and neck, but there wasn't much I could do about the smell of perspiration.

Parsons looked me up and down. "Coffee?"

"I don't drink hospital coffee."

"I make it in the office; Diana got me one of those personal coffee makers. I know it's not espresso, but…"

"Fine," I cut him off. "Black. One sugar."

"Ah. I'll be a moment." Chris rose and left the office.

Thankfully Chris took several minutes, which allowed me to compose myself, for the protracted session with Milligan had taken it out of me. Mostly the counselor had asked simple questions. How did you feel when she said that? What do you think you might do now? Have you talked to her? Have you thought what your plans may be moving forward? Is there no way forward for you, with her?

His questions were seemingly innocent, merely asking for information, yet those had elicited a whole raft of other questions and as many terse answers as I could muster. At the end I was shattered when he told me what he thought - not what I should do - but rather, what his opinion was of the whole matter. Milligan's advice sounded almost like Roger Fenn some weeks back, since he saw my issue with Louisa as digital. He counted them on his fingers. One, stay and let her lead her own life, which I had been doing or two - fight to get her back.

Chris came back bearing two steaming mugs. "Sorry, had to clean the mugs. My assistant left early with a dental emergency. She broke a tooth eating a candy bar."

"Empty calories." I gratefully took the coffee and inhaled the rich aroma.

"Sorry about the poor blend."

I tasted it and I could tell the grind was very small which tends to make the coffee clump when the hot water goes through it, leaving the best essences behind. "It's fine."

"No, Mart. Why did you want to see me? The door's closed; just the two of us, my outer office is empty, and I've blocked my phone and shut off the computer. So, it's you and me old friend."

I sighed. "I was unpleasant to you in medical school. How can _you_ call me a friend?"

He smiled. "Martin Christopher Ellingham. A fine doctor…"

I interrupted him. "But a lousy excuse for a human being."

"No. Not at all, Mart. I think that Portwenn has been a civilizing influence on you."

I could not let that comment pass. "Rubbish."

"No, it's true. I have an entire file of letters…"

I exploded. "No doubt telling you and the PCT what a horrid job I have done! That I didn't hand out lollys to the children? That I spoke the medical truth as it is and not how some wish it to be? All this namby-pamby balderdash that people tell one another! You're fine! You look great! Yes you've gained a stone from all the crisps and junk food you've been scarfing down, but oh, yes, _here_ have another _giant_ _helping_ of cholesterol laden _crap_! Better yet, bread it and fry it!"

Parsons laughed mirthlessly. "Ah, yes there are those. But there are _nearly_ as many from the Emergency Services, _and_ villagers, and certain," he coughed, "interested parties."

I bristled at him. "And who would that be? Someone who is deranged, no doubt!"

Chris stared at me. "No." He turned his chair about and rummaged in a file drawer behind his desk, taking out a slim folder, which he opened. "This one is my favorite. I've used this one to, ahem, _defuse_ various detractors." He waved a typescript at me.

"Oh great," I scowled. "Likely one of my mental patients. I've too many of those."

"I'll just read part. _'Yes, Dr. Ellingham can be a bit brusque at times, but there are a great many people who give him plenty of respect for __**respect**__ is what he soundly deserves. It has been hard for him to adjust to life in Portwenn, and there have been those who have tried to tear him down, as his ways are not ours. Yet, time and time again he has given his all, at peril of himself and his dignity, to - no matter what - heal the sick, offer medical guidance and counsel, effect medical cures, and to save lives. He is a very fine doctor and Portwenn, and her people, would be sorely lacking if not for his care of us.' _Parsons smiled at me. "There!"

"What poppycock!" I shouted. "Another mentally defective resident of a tiny village, who's been driven mad from ghost stories, tall tales, and inbreeding!"

Chris set the letter down on his desk. "Mart," he touched the letter with his index finger. "Did you listen? Respect, Martin! Respect - for you and your skills! Or have you forgotten how to listen?"

Hot blood rushed to my head, quite the opposite of the depressed and uncertain state I was in when I arrived. "Rubbish."

"Tell that to Peter Cronk's mum."

"Any competent surgeon could have done that!"

"But there WAS _no_ _one_ ELSE!" he shouted. "It was you in that speeding ambulance with a young boy bleeding out! Not the late great Jim Sim! Sim could barely read a thermometer at the end, and if we had been aware of that, we'd have replaced him! Shame the man died, but the stroke at his age saved a lot of hardship. It's always hard to replace a village GP."

"The man was ancient and out of date, from what I have seen." Then I glared. "And for all the worship people gave him, he almost killed any number of them! God, Chris! Do you have any idea the messes I've been trying to clean up for three years?"

"And you've done a fine job. That snake bite case was another. Mylow, the policeman."

"Well, that was, ahem, something different."

"Oh? I bet from the get-go there you were, the Master Diagnostician, observing left right and center! Probably picking the sick out of the crowd and trying to set them straight!"

I folded my arms. "Rubbish."

"This letter," he tapped it, "says it all, Mart." He folded his arms and leaned across the desk towards me. "Mart, you have saved lives and limbs from the very start."

I sighed. "No matter, Chris. I have been thinking that my time in Portwenn may be at an end."

"You don't mean that?"

I nodded. "I do. I've had to look at things full in the face, Chris. I should look for other, uhm, _means_ to practice medicine."

"Really. So you wish to move to another village."

I closed my eyes. "No," I told him. "I have been working with a therapist, and have been," the chasm stretched before me, but I leaped from the edge, "making myself ready to _return_ to _surgery_."

Parsons sat there stunned for a few moments then he cleared his throat. "Have you been able to, uhm…?"

"No, not yet, obviously. But the therapy has enabled me to carve up a liver, without getting ill, I'll have you know."

"You are serious." He sat there, mouth open. "You're leaving general practice."

"It was a stopgap solution, Chris," I told him. "I hope I'm not leaving you in the lurch."

"There are always candidates we can find, but not one that is one-tenth the doctor you are."

"There, you've said it. I'm not needed."

Chris leaned back in his fancy desk chair. "I can see you've made up your mind. How can I help you?"

"I may need, an _introduction_, call it, to re-enter the setting of surgery."

Chris closed the folder on his desk but left the letter he had read from out of it. "I can do that. Make some calls. Imperial up London way is looking for help, I know that."

I stood and offered my hand. "I have to do this, Chris."

He stood up and took my hand. "You can't stay, though?"

"No."

He dropped my hand. "But what about Louisa and the baby?"

"Louisa has made it _abundantly_ clear that she wishes to go it alone - without me." This was the thing that Milligan had tried to understand and likely failed to. Milligan had suggested that I might stay in Portwenn and be involved as much as I was able, in the life of mine and Louisa's child. His other option was to fight for her affections - both heart and mind. But Roger Fenn had planted the seed in my head.

There were more than two options; there always were and the option that Milligan failed to see was for me to leave - to return to the life that I once had lead. Option three was to _leave_ the biscuit tin backwater village where I had been marooned for three years; to cut my loses, lick my wounds, and go - back to London.

"We'll miss you Mart."

"Some might; not all, and not most," I told him. I started to turn away.

"Martin," Chris said, and the way he said my first name made me stop.

"What?"

"One more thing." He held out the letter. "Look at who wrote this letter, Mart. You should know who wrote about respect for you."

I rolled my eyes.

"Go ahead. Read it."

I took the letter from his hand and my eyes gaped when I saw the signature -

_Louisa Glasson_


	24. Chapter 24

Recombine

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

A few mornings later I went to Mr. Routledge's house, still thinking of it as his, and found Martin there examining the old man with blood pressure cuff in place on his arm. "Martin? Something wrong with Mr. Routledge?"

"He's an old time-waster that there is _nothing_ wrong with!" Martin shouted.

"He is _very_ frail," I said and holding up the bag I had brought said, "I got your kippers!"

"Thanks, luv," the old man said. "How about two eggs this morning?"

Martin stripped the medical cuff from Mr. Routledge's arm. "Have you been catering to this old fool?"

"I've merely been helping him," I said, trying to keep steel from my voice. "So is he well?" I asked Martin. "You _do know_ that some nights he can't climb the stairs and sleeps in that chair?"

"See, Doc? I told you that's wot's been happening! And you don't believe me," Routledge chimed in. "For a professional man, you can seem awful rude, you know!"

"Ahm, Mr. Routledge Martin is, I mean Dr. Ellingham, is a fine doctor and if he says there is nothing wrong with your heart, then he must be correct."

"But," his aged face sagged, "sometimes I just can't keep my eyes open!"

Martin sneered and said, "Likely all the beer you drink!"

"Well wot else can I do? The telly is all game shows, jiggly baps, depressing news, and rubbish sports, I've no family anymore and my eyes are too bad to read! I might as well sit right here and get potted!" Now he was yelling. "I'd like to see wot you'll be doing when you're as old as I am!"

"From the sound of you I'd say there's nothing wrong with your lungs either!" Martin growled back.

"Martin… must you yell?" I said softly. "Now let's get these kippers fried up," I said to Mr. Routledge and he gave me a gap-toothed smile.

Martin crossed the room to the kitchen in the corner. "You've been cooking for him?"

"Oh, just once in a while." I dabbed some grease from a tin into a frying pan and slid the dried herrings into it.

"God, Louisa! Eating that he just might have a heart attack!" Martin started. "Why don't I just set up an IV and you can pump it straight into his veins! It would be quicker!"

The baby jumped and I gave a little start, setting the spatula down on the cooker with a clang.

Suddenly Martin was by my side. "Something wrong? You look pale."

"No," I said, "just a little thump is all. She does that."

She? It's a girl?"

"No, I mean I don't know. They tried to tell on the scan but the baby had his legs together. So I said don't bother."

Martin relaxed but his face spoke volumes. "But you're doing okay?"

I looked askance at him. "Glad that you've asked. But yes, I am doing fine. Got the Headship."

"Yes," he said. "I knew that."

"So, Martin, no congrats from you? I heard…"

"Stop! Stop right there! I told the other school Governors that I was concerned that you might be, ahem, taking on a lot more than you were capable of - being both Head Teacher and…" he stopped.

Fire flashed and I bored into him. "And pregnant? That what you were going to say?"

Martin stood there looking uncomfortable.

"AH, caught you out, didn't I. Thanks, Martin," I said sadly. "Same old song, eh? You're not strong enough, Louisa! You'll be tired Louisa! How will you manage, Louisa? That sort of thing?"

His mouth closed. "Louisa… I… have said things to you that I am not proud of, and…"

"Wot about my breakfast!" shouted Mr. Routledge. "Don't let my kippers burn!"

Martin curled his lip. "I can't believe you're cooking in this germ laden hole."

"I've cleaned a bit," I told him and scooted the kippers around in the pan. "Now, if you don't mind, Martin, my friend is hungry." I cracked two eggs into the fish oil that was seeping out and they began to cook.

"God!" Martin hissed and covered his nose. "You could get a coronary occlusion just by smelling that, let alone eating it! His funeral!"

I dabbed at the eggs to keep them in one spot. Yes the dish was revolting to some, but my dad and grand-dad ate it and grand-dad died of cancer when I was nine and my dad was still living. "Do you suppose eating this might cause cancer? My grand-dad had it."

He wrinkled his nose. "Fried foods may be causative agents in some disorders, other than coronary." Now he was in full MD mode. "What kind of cancer?"

"Don't know as it was long ago."

Martin clamped his lips together but then said, "Hard to say. Sorry Louisa - about your grandfather. He was how old?"

"About sixty." I looked up at him gratefully. "Thanks for that, Martin."

He bowed his head. "Least I could do. But there are a number of environmental factors, as well as diet, and genetic makeup, that can predispose one to certain illnesses."

Martin had somehow come to stand right by me, and his broad chest was touching my shoulder and the rounded side of my belly was against his legs. I looked up at his tall frame and felt that flutter of whatever, I experienced on the plane ride from Cardiff, when I first saw him. "Genetics."

"Some people, based on their genetic makeup, can carry genes that may predispose them to certain aliments. Like high blood pressure or mental illness, or even some forms of cancer. Just as some traits of their parents such as intelligence, or a musical bent can be passed on to their offspring."

I had been coming up with a snappy retort but I stopped. "So what sort of child will this one be?" I turned slightly so my abdomen pressed more firmly against him. Will she, or he, be a writer, _or_ a medical genius, _or_ a great teacher, _or_ the first Cornish astronaut to walk on the planet Mars?"

His eyes had gone wide. "Hard to say, as the outcome is not just genetics; but also upbringing and environment."

"Outcome and environment."

"Yes."

I turned and pressed my distended belly against him a little more until he almost took a step back. "This _outcome_, Martin Ellingham is _our_ _child_ and not just _some_ outcome," I whispered.

His pale eyes got wider. "Yes, I… uhm… was speaking generally. I'm sure the child will be… fine. Genes are - half of yours - half of mine are recombined in…"

I didn't know whether to slap him or kiss him right then.

"Louisa…" His hand slid down to my waist and almost touched me. "I'm…"

"Yes, Martin?" I said dreamily.

His eyes changed. "Uhm… your eggs are burning."

"God!" I yelled and pulled the pan off the cooker. "Damn it all!"

"That's okay Lisa!" shouted Mr. Routledge, his nose sniffing the air. "I like them well done and crisp around the edges!" He started to rise. "I'll just go up and have a wee and be back!" He shuffled to the stairs. "I'm so weak I can barely walk, doc!" he started to limp in slow motion.

"You're not that weak," Martin said. "Just acting."

"Well, if I was a better actor than this I'd have convinced you that I need to be in care!"

"Mr. Routledge! I have told you time and time again that you are old, and have some ailments, but you are not ill enough to be in care! Care is for people who have significant medical problems! YOU are NOT one of them!"

"I had a heart attack this morning!" he said petulantly. "That's why I called you!"

"You have not had a heart attack! You may have felt dizzy, that is all."

Mr. Routledge disappeared up the stairs muttering.

I had set the kippers and eggs on a plate with a scone. "There. Now he can get a hot meal."

Martin slowly turned. "Wait. Wait a minute." He scowled. "He's been saying that if someone would rent his house he could afford to move into care - medical or otherwise! God, Louisa! You are currying favor with the old sod!"

"No I'm not."

"Yes, yes you are!" He looked around the cottage. "You are planning on raising our child - the combination of our genes - in this fetid house? You're daft!"

The toilet flushed upstairs and any reply of mine was halted by three heavy steps on the stairs, the sound of a stumble and the crash of an aged body tumbling down the wood flight. Mr. Routledge appeared, sliding feet first down the steps and collapsed onto the slate floor of the cottage.

Martin flew to his side and cradled his head. "Mr. Routledge?" while I looked on in horror.

"Told you I was old and sick…" He looked up at us blearily. "Did I fall?"

"Yes." Martin checked his pulse. "Did you feel faint?"

He shook his head. "No, I think I slipped."

"Just lie there," said Martin. "You may have internal injuries."

Mr. Routledge tried to roll to one side and began to moan. "God, Doc! I'm hurt!"

"Where? Where does it hurt?" I asked.

"My side and my back, Lisa!"

Martin began to poke and prod and the old man screamed. "I think he's broken his hip and perhaps some ribs!"

Mr. Routledge looked up at me in surprise. "I told you wasn't fit!"

Martin sighed. "I'll call for an ambulance."

I carefully knelt by the old man. "Oh, I am so sorry."

He took my hand. "Don't you worry none, Lisa. The spare key is in that drawer over there," he sighed. "You might as well start moving in."

I looked down at his battered body. "Okay."

Martin was speaking into his mobile but heard our exchange. "Oh Lord," he said.


	25. Chapter 25

Reckless

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

A few mornings later I rushed right up to Mr. Routledge's house, rather Louisa's house, after a panicky phone call from my aunt. It seems that my ex-fiancée was headstrong per usual but given the urgent nature of Joan's message I had literally run there.

I stripped the blood pressure cuff from Louisa's arm, who was reclining on a two-seat sofa. "Normal." I shone my penlight in her eyes. "Any more dizziness?"

"No." Louisa seemed to be fine yet her manner was hesitant.

"Follow my finger." I moved my index finger back and forth and she followed it readily.

Aunt Joan wrung her hands. "She only said she felt a bit faint is all! We were just shifting the sofa."

I turned my attention back to Louisa. "Why can't you act like a normal person?"

"Wot's that supposed to mean?" she snapped. "Normal in what way, Martin?"

"Louisa, you are six months pregnant, with our child I might add, and you should not be shifting _anything_, let alone a piece of furniture!" I barked back.

Her head whipped away and then back. "Martin, what am I supposed to do? Joan very nicely picked up the furniture from the jumble shops in Delabole and Padstow, that saved a packet, and she got two of the fishermen to bring the lot inside. I was only… nudging it… a little."

I took her pulse once more. "Slightly elevated but given your condition that would make sense."

"Martin!" she yelled back. "My _condition_, as you so cunningly call it, is due to you getting me up the duff!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "Martin, sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

I sighed. "In future, if you need something shifted, let me know." I stood. "And for your information, Louisa, the condition I was referencing was that fact that you are upset… nothing else."

Her face fell. "Oh."

Joan tried to hand me some knocked down cartons. "If you're so interested, Martin, you can take these to the bin on your way out."

I felt trapped between the two of them. "Uhm, I've left patients waiting… middle of the day, when you called."

Joan set her mouth at me. "Just as I thought. Failure to take responsibility! You, get out!"

"Joan, no need to be cross," said Louisa. "Martin is busy… go easy."

I looked at Louisa and went back her, coiling my stethoscope as I went. I laid my hand on her arm. "Louisa… please don't do anything reckless."

She looked at me with a hurt expression. "That wot you think? I'm reckless? That I'll go hang gliding or base jumping? How about climbing Mt. Everest? Shouldn't be that hard, along with swollen ankles, hemorrhoids, insomnia, and this!" She prodded her belly.

"You have hemorrhoids?" I asked.

"Uhm, yeah," she replied.

"Normal for a third trimester pregnancy, unless they are actively bleeding. Soft foods and no chocolate will help. And Mrs. Tishell has over-the-counter aids for that."

"Well," Louisa said. "Isn't this nice? Quite the little chat we're having, right?"

"I'm only saying… these things are normal for pregnancy."

She winced. "Okay."

Joan opened the door. "That's enough Martin. Shoo."

I packed my bag. "If you have any more dizziness, call," I told Louisa. "But please no more moving things."

"Right." Her teeth sprang to her lip, which she chewed when nervous. "No hang gliding either."

I ignored the joke at my expense. "Goodbye."

"Bye, Martin, thank you for coming," she said, so I left.

Joan followed me outside and began to hector me in earnest. "Must you badger her? Haven't you done enough?"

"What would you have me do?" I growled back. "Stand back and watch her do something _really_ _stupid_?"

"Seems to me Martin that letting you get _that_ _close_ was one of them!" She shook her head at me and her voice and face softened. "But there must be _some_ _magic_ about you, Marty, for even Buddy wants to be near you. See?"

I looked down and the mangy dog that followed me about and ostensibly lived at my aunt's stood at my ankle wagging his tail, his filthy tongue hanging from his mouth. "God!" I recoiled taking a step away. "Must you allow that filthy creature to be here; near Louisa's house? Bad enough Mr. Routledge left God knows what inside! The man had a raging UTI when they admitted him to hospital! Having your dog here, spreading a host of bacteria and viruses, cannot make it any better!" I bellowed at her but Joan stood her ground.

"You've never gotten over the stray that bit you, have you?" she said, her eyes smiling. Her rough hand reached out and cupped my face. "You are a miserable bugger, Marty. I wish…"

"What?"

She dropped her arm to her side. "Oh, nothing. Just an old woman's woolgathering. I fancy that if you were my son you'd not have this absurd disgust for animals."

"Animals are dirty, for they can't have a wash, having no soap and towels." I paused. "Aunt Joan, I'm sorry you never had children."

She smiled ruefully. "What's done is done, boy. No use crying over spilt milk, or lack of."

I squinted down at her in the sunlight. "You do know that I wished from time to time, that you and Uncle Phil were my parents."

She watched me carefully. "Marty, I'm… glad, really glad, that you spent a few school holidays on the farm. I think it did you a world of good."

I nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

"Wish it could have been longer." Her blue eyes were suddenly moist under her white hair, their color further offset by her ruddy face. "Well… that's that." She cocked her head at the house. "Better go see what I can do for Louisa. If only…"

"Another if?"

She sighed. "You'd best be off, Martin. Patients _are_ waiting."

"They'll keep," I told her and went back into the house. I saw Louisa was resting, her eyes closed and I didn't want to disturb her, figuring I had done enough damage for one day, if not a lifetime."

Joan stood by my side. "Ever think this would happen? After Edith?" she whispered.

I sighed. "No. If… tell her… I…" my voice failed.

Joan touched my elbow. "Don't do anything reckless now. You do recall how awful things ended with that Montgomery woman. You _were_ messed about, weren't you?"

Gazing at Louisa's peaceful face, with her soft slender hands resting across her distended belly, I could not speak. We had so many chances to get it right and it all ended up like this - apart and angry. No, I felt worse than that, for I felt despair.

I brushed past Joan, and taking medical case in hand, went back to surgery.


	26. Chapter 26

Relish

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

I finally had to give in. I'd waffled and whiffled back and forth and had fretted, finagled, fussed and finally, finally, knew I had to do something.

"I think I'm going to be sick," I said to Al Large who was leaning over looking down into my clogged toilet.

Al straightened up and grimaced at the porcelain. "These old pipes; likely needs a whole new works, I'd say." He craned his neck around the small loo. "These old places have a lot wrong."

There was a spot where the plaster had fallen away and a tangle of exposed pipes led from the ancient boiler to the tub and sink. From the obvious stains and corrosion those pipes were rubbish; even I could tell that. "I know – been finding that out; in spades." I waved a hand in front of my nose as the stink of the clogged toilet was dreadful and it took a real effort not to run over to the open window and stick my head out. "The boiler's packed up as well - no hot water, the gutters are full of leaves and dead birds, and the fridge smells funny – and something in the fridge."

Al shook his head. "I guess you've called Fred." Fred was the local handyman from Delabole.

"I did and he wants a packet, three-fifty!" I ground my teeth; I'd not liked the price or the way Fred Davey had leered at me when he came to the house, for it seemed that some men liked seeing the side effects of pregnancy on a female chest – which on me was to be fuller, rounder, and heavier. "But more money than I want to spend."

Al scratched at his neck. "Louiser, I could help, I suppose. Been busy with Dad and Joan Norton, but if you could pay me in cash, in two days, I'll do it all for two-fifty.

"Really?" I could just about afford that. "Two days? Why two days?"

"I… oh, a bit of a surprise is all," he grimaced. "If you say deal, I'll get started right away. Dad's got a ladder and I can get to the gutters after I tear into that toilet." Now he stepped to the window and I followed. "So how's old Routledge doing?"

"Mr. Routledge is getting care for his broken hip, poor old duffer. But you say you can start now?"

"Right."

I pondered the amount. What with buying some furniture and paying the rent my funds were still tight. I had foolishly let my house for too little to Mr. Strain to rent it quickly, and cash flow at the moment was negative but I could dip into my savings. I examined Al Large again. He was honest and a straight shooter and I liked him. He'd fixed my laptop charger for a simple thank you and a kiss on the cheek. "Deal then."

"Swell. I'll collect some tools. I'll have to shut the supply off, though."

"Whatever," I told him and stepped to the window and put my hand on his arm. "Thanks Al."

He carefully took my hand off his arm. "Sure."

He quickly went from me and I looked down to see a few of Portwenn's teenager girl pack larking about behind the house. I heard a few giggles and shaking my head turned away from the window fanning myself as I did. Was I ever that silly as a teen? Likely no, I thought, and if I was I was on my own mostly or mooning over Danny Steel. I rubbed my belly in time to a kick and wondered what Danny would say about this. Would he say 'Praise the Lord?' "Yeah," I muttered. "He would." I felt my tummy get quite hard then, with a sharp twinge, and I hard to lean over. "Oww!"

Al was suddenly at my side. "Louiser? God, you're white as a sheet!"

"I'm fine… yeah," the cramp or whatever loosened. I was able to stand. "There, just… nothing." Then the pain hit again and I was bent double. "No! No, I'm not!"

Al flipped open his mobile and rang Pauline while I knelt on the floor trying to get air. "Come on, Paul!" he muttered. "Bloody hell! No answer!"

"Try Martin's number…" I rattled off his mobile number and he tried that.

"Busy!"

I was now able to breathe. "Ah, it's easing up. Uhgg. Wow. Strange."

I tried to stand once more but Al forced me to stay as I was. "Don't move! I'll get help!" he clattered down the stairs and I heard the front door bang. I tried to stay calm and felt like the pain was more on one side than the other. If I leaned to the right, it wasn't so bad, but if I went the other way shooting stars went thru my vision. "Oww! Damn."

I gritted my teeth and managed to lever myself up to a sitting posture on the rim of the tub. "Come on Louisa, get a grip, girl! You keep sayin' you'll do this _on your own_! Well when are you _bloody well going to start_?" I sat there as properly as a half-knackered and two-thirds knocked up woman could be until help arrived.

Soon there were voices on the stairs and here came Al along with Joan Norton! "Louisa! Al just bumped into me on the street!" she shouted her face gone all red.

Al took my elbow. "Come on Lousier, into Joan's truck to the Doc's is the best way we think!"

"No... no," I said. "I'll be fine."

"Up you get girl," ordered Joan who took my other arm. "Don't argue."

In short order I had been bustled into Martin's surgery by Joan while Al hung back with a hang-dog expression. "I'll stay out there," he said from the door, pointing to reception where I saw Pauline look daggers at both him and me.

Martin had been between patients so I was suddenly number one on his runway.

"Martin!" Joan ordered. "Louisa felt a sharp pain or something. She says she wasn't doing anything."

Martin sighed. "Based on her previous escapades, are you so sure?"

"She's right, Martin. I was only standing there." I'd eased myself onto the exam couch. "Maybe you'd better take a look."

"Do that Marty! Come on!" Joan shouted. "Quit playing the jilted lover and get to work!"

Martin straightened and helped me recline on the couch. "Fine then. When did this, uhm, pain start?"

"She said she was standing up!" Joan answered.

Martin glared at her. "Louisa, what else have you been doing?"

"She was doing nothing out of the ordinary!" Joan shouted.

Martin rolled his eyes at her then shoved her to the door. "Joan. Out!"

Her face fell. "Oh, I'll be…"

Martin closed the door and shot his cuffs. "Now Louisa, what's this about?"

I repeated what Joan had said.

He prodded my abdomen through my denim skirt. "Uhm, can we, ahem, pull this down?"

"Yeah, I suppose." I managed to get a hand on my side but the pain hit me again. "Oww…" I whimpered. "No."

Martin fumbled under my cotton top and lifted it, saying. "Sorry. Uhm…" He stared at the stretch belly panel of the skirt without which I'd not get into this denim thing.

"Not very pretty to look at, is it?" I apologized.

"No! No! It's… ahem… blue." He touched my belly lightly.

I lay there, trying to get air. "Seems when I lean to the left, it really hurts."

"Hm…" his large fingers hovered over the waist band; that is where my waist used to be. "May be due to round ligament pain."

His surgeon's fingers tugged at the material and I managed to get a hand down there to help. Our hands touched briefly and I had a flash of the first time he took my pants off – and it was a lot more sensuous then. I saw his face turn red. "Martin… I am sorry."

His hand held mine for a moment then dropped it. "This is strictly professional." He folded the belly panel down and there it was bulging out like a white balloon – my belly – minus belly button which had disappeared last week as things expanded.

I sighed. At least I was wearing decent pants! "Yeah, I know," I told him.

His soft hands palpated each side and I jumped when he touched the right side below my hip. "Oww! God!" I hissed. "That _really_ hurts."

He went to the foot of the table and lowered it. "Now, while I watch I want you to try and shift your shoulders to the side, just as you might have been doing when this started." To the right, nothing, well maybe some tightness, but when I went to the left, the room grayed out.

"Louisa! Louisa?" Martin bellowed as he sat on his wheelie stool by my side.

"Hmm? Wow." I lay there for a few seconds. "See?" That really hurt.

"Just stay there." He brought over the foetal heart monitor, a smaller version than in the OB's office, and put it on my belly. The cold gel gave me gooseflesh. We sat there and listened as the rapid pulse of the baby's heart wooshed along. "Still pumping along. Normal."

"Thank God for that!"

"You have likely strained one of the ligaments that attach the uterus to the groin and surrounding muscles."

"Must have been the hang gliding. Or was it the surfing?" He gave me a disturbed look as my words came out. "Sorry. Shifting couch then."

He pursed his lips and gently wiped the couplant gel from my skin, and then he carefully pulled up my skirt, settling it over me. "Louisa… yes, the couch. Likely that is how you have injured yourself."

"So… verdict doctor?"

"Paracetamols, rest, warm compresses on the affected side. You must more carefully walk, bend, and move. I recommend that you cut back your work hours."

"I can't do that!"

"Yes, Louisa, you can," he said. "Three days a week, after this week. Rest of the week – you stay at _home_ – resting."

"Well, that will be tough with the school budgets all in a mess."

"I didn't say you cannot _think_, Louisa. You should be able to take phone calls, do paperwork, use your computer; just do it from a reclining position. You can also do hip flexes and rolls, given the amount of pain you can tolerate." He swiftly went to a cabinet and brought back several pamphlets. "These will explain the core strength regions you should work on, as well as Kegel exercises, ahem… you know what those are?"

"Yeah, read about them in a book." I'd also read that the Kegel could be considered to be solitary sexual exercises. "Sorry about this…"

"I'll call your doctor – Montgomery is it?"

"Ah… no. She's on leave or something."

"Edith's on leave?" he asked. 'I'd have thought… never mind."

I sat up part way. "Oh, so you want you ex-girlfriend to be poking and prodding me?" I asked sharply. "I heard she got into some trouble." The last I said with some satisfaction.

He whipped his head around. "Oh?" he said edgily.

I tiched with my mouth. "Something about impaired driving. Right here in Portwenn? I'm surprised you hadn't heard."

Martin went all tense. "Penhale may have mentioned that."

"I don't want _her_ near me. I've got Dr. Abrams now." I coughed. "Abrams also said that Edith's - that is Dr. Montgomery's - diagnosis of SGA was wrong."

"SGA? Small for Gestational Age?" He looked me up and down and with his hands quickly felt my belly at sides and top and bottom, and I had to squirm when his hand was between my legs. "Nope. She was wrong. Dead wrong! The size of your uterus is appropriate for your dates." He sighed. "Louisa, if I had known she was treating you," he coughed, "I'd have said something earlier. Edith may not be the doctor that I thought she might become. I'm not sure that her skills are…"

"Adequate?"

"No." He stood and levered me to a seated position.

I relished the feel of his strong arms and hands as he helped me and I sighed.

"Problem?"

My eyes flicked at him nervously. "Ahm, just relishing your hands on my arms and back is all."

He froze. "Oh."

"Quite nice actually. Been awhile," I shrugged.

His turn to sigh. "Louisa, what are we doing?"

I chuckled. "I'm trying to get on. You?"

"Yeah." He looked at me again. "Any pain?"

"No. Just knowing what's wrong…" I managed to stand and he rose slowly. "Thanks, Martin. Best be off."

He helped me to the door but as I tried to open it, he took my hand. "Louisa…"

"Yes?" I said.

We stood there like statues for a few seconds.

"I'm…" he said, "I'll drive you home, if you wish."

"Joan's here. But thank you."

Martin let go of my hand. "If you wish." He opened the door and I went through.


	27. Chapter 27

Recon

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

"You're sure?" the voice on the phone was gravelly and gruff. "Parsons says you're fit now," Robert Dashwood harrumphed. "My staff was less than enamored of letting you come in from Cornwall."

That's the way it would seem to the man, I thought. "I am certain I will be able to perform."

"Oh? Right. We'll see."

I heard the clacking of his keyboard.

"How about next Monday? Here at Imperial," he asked.

"I could do that." I sighed.

Dashwood laughed. "You don't sound that confident or happy about it."

"I'll have to cancel some appointments."

More keyboard work. "_Look_, Ellingham, if you're not able, _say so_."

I knew Dashwood's reputation and like all surgeons he was hard driving and intractable. "Monday will be fine. I'll come up on Sunday."

"Good! You can find your way to Imperial?"

"No problem."

"Fine. I think we can dispense with the whole dinner with the staff rigmarole, yes?"

"Ghastly," I told him.

Dashwood laughed. "A man to my own heart. I've got surgeries early, but let's say 9 AM, my office."

"Yes."

"Fine. See you then, Ellingham. Back from _exile_. Come in from the _cold_ and do a _decent_ recon! Let us get a look at you as well! I'm certain you'll find things a lot better once you are back to civilization," Dashwood laughed. "Monday then." He rung off.

I replaced the handset and closed my eyes, feeling my heart jumping in my chest. Was I ready? Pauline was gone so I went to the kitchen and removed my patient from the fridge.

The patient lay on the table cold and motionless, as I cut down through the wing joint to reach the brachial artery. Using a vein from the other wing, I swiftly stitched in a bypass to an imaginary blockage. I heard the kitchen door fly open and I recoiled, draping a blue surgical towel over the unfortunate subject.

"Hello?" Joan's voice rang out. "Martin?"

"Uhm…"

She came in smiling. "You'll be glad to know that Louisa is doing fine, these past few days."

I tried to block the tray from her sight. "That's good." I stripped off my surgical gloves and binned them.

She peered around me and snagged the towel away. "Oh," she said sadly. "That's why you wanted a fresh-killed chicken. I see."

"Auntie Joan, I'm trying to…"

"Get ready to leave Portwenn," her tone was cold. She slumped heavily onto my visitor's chair. "What about the baby - about Louisa?"

I set my instrument tray aside and washed my hands. "She has made it very clear she wishes to go it alone, Joan. I am merely letting her do it."

"And the baby? _Your_ child?"

"She will be an excellent mother," I said and recalled the faint smile of surprise when I told Louisa that outside the Wenn house. "I've no doubt of that."

Joan sighed. "You've set your mind then? No chance for the jilted? Dust off your sandals and leave, is it?"

I sat down behind my desk. "Aunt Joan, I have tried to… to…"

Fire flashed at me from her eyes. "Marty! I know for a fact that you have NOT tried to settle things with Louisa for she told me as much yesterday when I took her a hot meal. Have you no… no…" She stabbed rough finger on my desk. "I thought you _loved_ her."

"I did."

"And not any more?"

That was quite a question. "I am endeavoring to move on from a failed relationship, is all."

Joan laughed. "Failed relationship? That's what you call it?"

I sat up straighter and folded my hands to not show her my trembling. "We tried - we failed. I did bring her back to Portwenn."

"And then what, Martin? Then what? Probably fussed and fumed about how she folded her under things or combed her hair!"

"I… That's not fair, and it's none of your business!"

"None? Marty, Louisa is pregnant by YOU! That's _your_ child growing inside _her_! And soon enough that child, my great-niece or nephew, _will be born_, and _you_ will be gone. Gone to London - off to Shangri-la! A land of fairy stories where everything will go your way! A complete and utter fantasy world where you and all the stuck-up and rigid Ellingham's assume they can live! Christopher buried himself in is work and his affairs! Your mother wanted nothing to do with you, I know that! My sister's off playing with the criminally insane! Each and every one of you…"

"What about _you_, Joan?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Tit for tat. Okay. Fine! I'm living the dream of a farm, growing wholesome veg, chickens and sheep! And I'm losing my bank account in the process! There! That's my dream - dribbling and drabbling away a Pound at time."

"What?"

"The bank won't give me any more money." She stared right at me her lips twitching.

"Auntie Joan?"

"Nope. Serves me right." She sighed. "Serves me right. All these years, hanging on by my finger nails," she examined her hands. "Seems I'm about done. So I'm considering renting rooms at my house - bed and breakfast thing."

I was shocked. "You need money."

"You've done enough." She sighed and wiped at her face. "No, Martin, I have to go it alone; been doing fine for years. Just this economy thing is hard." She stood. "I've left you some vegetables on the table."

I sprang to my feet and followed her to the back of the house. "Joan, I _am_ sorry. How much do you need?"

She crossed her arms angrily, then came back to me and hugged me. "Boy, you have to do what you have to do." She smiled ruefully. "As must I. You see, going it alone, is not all it's cracked up to be." Now her lips quivered as she looked at me. "Imagine Louisa all alone - by herself - with your child; a child that you might only know through weekend visits, once a month if it's lucky."

"I… Louisa and I will work my visits out. And they can come to London."

"Oh? Aren't you counting chickens before they hatch? You don't have a new job there, yet." She raised an eyebrow. "Marty, you will get _one_ chance to be a father, as it seems that was an accident, so you had better get it right, and… oh, listen at me. Old, tired out, and _alone_."

"You had Uncle Phil. He was a good man. And I will get that London job."

"And he's dead many a year and all I have are memories and a worn-out farm." She turned to the door.

"Joan, wait, I'll write you a cheque."

"Do what you wish, Martin. But I think you'd better worry about Louisa and that baby first. _They_ should be your very _first_ priority."

I shuffled my feet. "I've made a dreadful hash of everything, haven't I?"

"I think it is the responsibility of each and every parent to give their child the best possible upbringing, not for their benefit, but for the child's. Parents have to sacrifice and not the other way around." Joan opened the door. "I fear you don't see that. But you must live your live as you think; it's not for me to say. Night, nephew."

I watched as the door closed behind her and thought very hard. My plans for the London interview had been made so that die was cast. Yet as I surveyed my plans for the near future, I was less than certain that any of it was proper.

Aunt Joan was in financial distress, Louisa was to have and raise our child on her own, and what about me? Was I ready for surgery? I crossed to the unfortunate chicken and looked under the towel. The nauseating smell of raw chicken fat and wet tissue rose to my nose and I had to lean over the sink and vomit.

I sagged against the counter after wiping my mouth. "Appears not."


	28. Chapter 28

Reproach

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

"And then without a word, he walked right past me in the market," I said.

"Well, Louisa, whatever did you think would happen?" my friend Holly giggled to me over the phone. "The man's got an iron rod stuck up his backside and you did move out."

"Martin's not like that; not all the time," I told her, but I knew she was mostly correct.

"Louisa, if you'd not left the lovely school in London, you'd have left all this behind you. Am I right?"

I rolled from my back to my side with difficulty since my belly was getting quite large. I was on the sofa in the house, and had been dangling my feet over the end, but now had to bend my knees, further complicating matters since my sofa was a two-seater. "The school wasn't that great."

I must have made a grunt for Holly said next, "Poor thing. How much longer?"

"Ten weeks or so."

"Nearly seven months along. My God, Louisa, why don't you pack it in and come back here?"

"And do what, Holly? I need to work and my coffers got pretty well depleted." A little foot or arm poked me and I had to rub the lump. "Other things might be getting bigger but my savings got very flat."

She giggled. "You should send me a photo. You always were such a skinny thing."

"Not sure that I want my fat pictures splashed from email to email. Hard enough living in such a small village… and…"

"And what?"

I sighed. "And everyone here knows the story, pretty much."

"Oh Louisa," she sighed, "I _am_ sorry. But other than make noises over the phone what can I do?"

"God Holly, I don't really know."

"What say I come out and we'll do something? I can get there Saturday around noon."

I squirmed on the sofa as I reached for my orange squash. "Maybe not. With this bed rest thing I don't think I should be gallivanting about."

"Well you do need some exercise."

"I've been taking short walks; Abrams and Martin agree that is useful."

"Abrams?"

"My new OB."

"Trust _you_ to wear out the old one. But still… there must be a limit to how many sea gulls and fishing boats you can gaze at."

I put down my drink and rose so I could look out the back windows at the harbor. "I love it here, Holly. I really do. Just now the sun is going down and the waves are all lit up orange and yellow."

She coughed. "And I bet Father Christmas is on the roof as well. It's just perfect and peachy, right?"

Her sarcasm stopped me. "You've changed Holly. I think London life has made you…"

"Made me rich?" she laughed. "That much is true, I do have a bit put away, and my school pays quite well. But the view from my back window is a brick wall. You've seen it."

"Yep." I craned my neck, watching a fishing boat come in with a load on the deck. "For instance, I can see Eddie Rix's boat coming in and it looks very lovely in the sunset. You won't get that view in London."

She chuckled. "Right again. So you don't want me to come? Might be fun?"

I looked around the house, which was very tidy since Joan Norton had been helping out. My usual version of house keeping was to make a pile and hope when it got high enough it might sink due to its own weight through the floor. "Things are sort of a mess right now, and I don't think I have the energy to straighten up."

"Louisa, what about Martin?"

"Martin is… Martin. He does care about me, as far as they baby goes."

"Okay," she said but I could hear the smirk in her voice. "But _you_ left _him_ and I still don't understand why."

"I… needed…" I said, "Holly? Say somebody's at the door. Have to go."

"Okay then, but since you let him take you back to biscuit-tin village, there must have been _something_; _other_ than egg and sperm."

"Bye, Holly. Thanks for the chat." I rung off and listened to the relative silence of the waves in the harbor, the breeze outside, and a sea gull cawing. Eddie had anchored his boat at his buoyed mooring lines and was putting his crab traps into the dingy. "Yeah, Holly, you certainly can't see this from London."

I stood there drinking the squash and watching the light play on the waves. I'd lied to Holly as there was no one at the door, or so I thought, for I heard a shout. "Louisa?"

Dave the Posty stood outside peering in at me.

"Hi Dave," I said opening the door.

"I got a package for you, Louisa." There was a large flat pack leaning against his leg. "You'll have to sign for it."

"Ah! Must be the cot I ordered. Can you bring it in?"

"Yep." Dave slid the thing inside the door. "Where do you want it?"

Floor space was tight. "Don't suppose you could take it upstairs, could you?"

"Of course I can." He picked up the box and climbed while I followed.

"In the bedroom, if you would."

"Right. Where shall I…"

I squeezed past him, maneuvering my fat self past him. "Behind the drapes." I held the material away from the wall.

"There," he grunted as he propped it against the wall.

"Thanks Dave."

He looked around the small room. "Gonna be a bit tight, don't cha think?"

I tried to smile. "It'll be fine. I'll put it together later."

"Yeah," he said. "I could assemble it, uhm, if you want." He squinted at me.

"Maybe later; I'll let you know."

He chuckled. "Louisa, from the looks of you, I don't think you've got much _later_ left!"

I nodded and agreed for what more could I do. "Still time." My hand brushed over my blouse. "Some."

He rocked his head from side to side. "You and the Doc are," he brought his hands together then pulled them apart, "still _splits_."

"'Fraid so."

He nodded at me. "Shame really. You and him - Head Teacher and our Doc - stands to reason it shoulda' worked."

I looked away. "This is the way it turned out."

"I'd better be going… I was running late or I'd have been here before. Seems like time can slip away and before you know it," he snapped his fingers, "gone."

I'd heard a lot of unwelcome things lately but this pithy observation from the postman was far and away the most thought provoking. I had been thinking that if I had time to myself, then I could get sorted. But so far, I hadn't gotten sorted, only feeling more lonely and at sea.

Dave moved towards the steps. "When you want that cot put together," he smiled, "you call me. That be okay?"

"Fine." I followed him downstairs. "So nice of you."

He stopped at the front door. "You do know that when I, uhm, come knocking with the mail at your old house that day that you and the Doc were… had been… and you was standing there…" he stopped as I flinched. "Sorry. But I wanted to say you were startled, but also, looked pleased to me, you know? Pleased as punch."

"That was a long time ago, Dave."

"Time changes things, don't it? Bye." He left the house.

I couldn't answer and just slowly closed the door. Pleased? We looked pleased then? I had been wearing my yellow and white dressing gown and had managed to brush my hair before Martin had to go. I'd not even been able to give him breakfast since he was late getting out of bed, and he'd said patients would soon be waiting. Pleased?

"Dave I was a helluva lot more than pleased! I was overcome; just flabbergasted at what had happened." I sat down heavily on a chair and rested my head on the table. "Why, oh why, did I let things get so messed up? _Why_, Louisa? Are you _stupid_, or what?" I rubbed my wet eyes on my sleeve. "And why do you have to be so stubborn?"

I sat up and blew my nose on a handy tissue. "And why so damn sad?"

A sea gull called and it seemed that was my answer as I sat there alone.


	29. Chapter 29

Real

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

Dashwood peered down into the cavity at the kidney, where new vessels had been grafted. "That look good to you?"

I grunted as I examined his handiwork. "Yes… but you may want to consider using finer suture material. See how the tissue is puckered between stitches?" I pointed with a gloved finger, trying not to touch anything.

Dashwood looked down into the hole where capillaries oozed red fluid. "Damn." He turned to his assistants, the surgical specialty registrars. "Have a look in there."

The two young doctors each took a look and then nodded slowly, but did not speak, but their eyes spoke volumes for I was right.

Dashwood glared at me slightly over his surgical mask. "You're probably right."

"Of course I am," I replied.

Dashwood stepped back. "I'll let these two close up."

I inclined my head. "Anything else? That's the problem in cases like this, blockages in the kidney can make the peripheral vessels distended and fragile, giving rise to the distortions when stitched into."

Dashwood bowed his head. "Your time in Cornwall has not dimmed your keen eye. But you've done no surgery out there?"

"Not much to remark on."

"Come, Ellingham. Let's take a walk."

I followed him to the locker room and I stripped off my surgical scrubs, redressing in my suit.

Dashwood sat slumped on a bench, watching me. "I hadn't expected you to come early today."

"I don't like to waste time," I told him as I tied my tie. "I woke early, so I came."

"Well, I'm glad you could observe my technique." His pager buzzed. "I'd better get that. Come up to my office - fifth floor, when you're ready."

After he left the room, I rushed to a toilet where I peered down at the porcelain, guts just this side of vomiting. It was a good thing I'd skipped breakfast for nothing emerged. I dabbed at my face with toilet tissue until the sweat on my face was gone. I'd told Dashwood I was ready, but, _not yet_ it seemed. Milligan's counseling and visualization training had helped, but it was not exactly perfect.

My left hand ached from the tight fist it had held during the entire surgery. The marks of my fingernails stood out vividly on my palm; four short bright red bruises that told my lie.

Dashwood sat in his office telling me all the ways that I could help him, rather than asking _me_; an anti-interview. "And of course, teaching, just like down there in surgery."

"I know. I can't say that my registrars ever _loved_ me, but they _did_ _learn_." I rubbed my damp hand on my trousers.

Robert leaned back in his chair. "Ellingham, I have checked on your bona fides, and they are good. Oh that little thing - the blood - you're clearly over that."

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

He smiled. "I'll have to go to the Board for approval, but when could you start?"

I smiled grimly. "I must speak with the PCT. I can't very well leave Parsons in the lurch."

Dashwood turned to his computer and examined the screen. "How might mid-July sound?"

That was two weeks before Louisa's baby was due, I knew, and oh how easily I had moved from thinking of _our_ baby to _her_ baby. "That might work," I said and cursed myself for the betrayal.

Robert smiled. "So tentatively mid-July, assuming the Board approves, your PCT can find another GP - I'd imagine that would not be an issue - and you actually accept the contract when we offer it. The money, I hate to discuss it, will be worth your while. A lot better than down in Cornwall."

"I'm sure it will be adequate."

He laughed and stood. "You could afford a nice flat in Kensington, I'm certain." He glanced at his watch. "Want lunch?"

"My needs are simple," I said. "And lunch is not necessary. I'll be off." I could catch the afternoon train from Paddington and be back in Portwenn late tonight.

Dashwood stood and came around the desk. "Say, have you blundered into Dr. Montgomery out Cornwall way? Know her? Damn fine fertility specialist and Gynie-OB down in Truro."

My senses went on alert hearing her name. "I don't blunder, Dashwood, and yes, I do know her."

"No I don't suppose that you would _blunder_. Excuse me. Edith and I met… uhm, anyway, I was thinking you'd have seen her recently."

I rose and turned away. "No."

He gave me an odd look. "She's had a sort of breakdown and mentioned you."

"Are you accusing me of something, Dashwood?"

He laughed. "No! Oddest thing. The woman got an impaired driving charge - in _your_ village."

"Really. _Shocking_. I'd have thought, given what _I_ know of her, she'd have had _more sense_ than to _drink and drive_." I smiled briefly. "And it's not _my_ village." Portwenn was Louisa's village; certainly not mine.

Dashwood clapped me on the shoulder. "This contract stuff is a formality really, _and_ the Board. If I recommend you, you're in." He laughed. "Welcome back to the real world, Ellingham."

I merely nodded and left Imperial, walking up Waterloo Road and back south along the Queen's Walk along the Thames towards Westminster Bridge. Feeling my stomach rumble, I did stop at the café in Jubilee Gardens, near the Eye for takeaway. The place was packed with tourists and the crush made me quite happy to take my grilled chicken sandwich and apple outside.

I gladly left the hub-bub behind, the tangle of different languages and accents clashing to my ear. The worst were the pushy Americans, with their loud voices, and appalling lack of manners, for somehow in the benighted States, they hadn't learnt how to queue, or how to dress - most wearing ghastly shorts and bright t-shirts.

I found a quiet bench some distance away and sat down to eat. The espresso was good, if lukewarm, and the bread slightly stale, but I gratefully put food into me. The surgery I'd observed and my anxiety had nearly done me in. I finished the sandwich in six more bites, downed the coffee, and started to eat my apple.

A young blonde woman, tall and thin, and pushing a pram, sat down on the other end of the bench, and began to feed her child biscuits and a drink. "Nice day," she said.

I nodded.

She sighed. "I used to come here with my dad. Just to watch the river and the people. The Eye really brings them, don't it?"

I nodded again, watching her son, who looked to be about a year-old, suck on a nozzle cup greedily. I could not recall ever being in a park with my dad _or_ my mum. The London Eye, which some found to be _wonderful_, I found an eyesore. "Tourist trap," I muttered.

She laughed at the little boy while he gurgled. "Oh, you are _so_ precious." She looked at me, her blue eyes laughing. "Tourist trap?"

"Yeah." I stood up to bin my lunch debris.

"Sorry to intrude on your lunch. Henry and I are just out for a walk. His dad gets home this afternoon. Been gone a long time, hasn't he?" She tickled the boy and he giggled. "Ever so long. He's in the RAF."

"I see. How old? Uhm, your son."

"Eleven months - big for his age. My fella's been gone for five; months."

"Deployed, then?"

"Exchange program with the Canadians - in Ontario. We got to visit once, three months back." She took the boy from his pram and held him on her lap.

I could see the way she tenderly held the boy there was much true affection there. "Henry was my grandfather's name," I told her softly. "He taught me to repair clocks - my hobby now."

"My grandad's name as well!" she laughed. "What are the odds?"

"Small."

She gave little Henry another biscuit. "We met right here - my fella. He's named Bill and I'm Katie." She held out a slim hand so I shook it. "I'm Katie Smalls."

"Dr. Ellingham."

"Doctor? My. Must be nice."

"Usually," I grunted. "Here in the park, uhm, _you_ met _him_ in the park."

"Right on this bench. My girlfriend Debbie, she fixed us up - a blind date."

Running out of things to say, I looked at the boy. "Feeding well."

"Yes. He always does."

I checked my watch. "I need to go. Have to get a train."

"Have a nice day, then."

I looked once more at the boy and wondered what my child would look like in a year and what my relationship might be with him, as well as his mother. "Goodbye."

"Bye," she said.

I had not taken more than ten steps when I heard Katie scream my name. "Doctor Ellingham! Help!"

I turned and her child was writhing on her lap, clearly in distress. I ran back to her and shouted, "What's wrong?"

"He's choking! On a biscuit…"

I ripped the child from her hands, sat down on the bench and tipped his head back. Henry's eye's bulged and his tiny arms tried to push me away. I pried his mouth open, seeing his mouth jammed with masticated biscuit. A quick finger sweep with my pinky cleared most of it. "Damn." He still got no air.

Passersby stopped when seeing the drama and some dolts pulled out mobile phones to snap pictures.

"Do something!" his mother screamed.

I flipped him onto his front across my lap and slapped on his back three times, each time which increasing force. Fortunately I was rewarded by a weak cry and a gasp, then coughing. His mouth spewed remaining crumbs and spittle onto my trousers, but he was breathing - crying really.

"Thank God! Oh thank God," his mum cried, sweeping him into her arms. "If… you… hadn't been here! What then?"

A policeman came jogging up. "What's happened?"

While the child's mum sobbed happily, I explained the incident.

"Well," said the cop, "damn good thing you were handy!"

"Just doing my job." I brushed at the wet mash on my trousers.

Katie was very thankful, nearly overcome with emotion.

"He's fine," I told her. "And you're fine."

"Right. We are, thanks to you." She said then she threw her arms about me in an emotional embrace. "Thanks awfully!"

The officer called in the incident and took my name, in case of further need. I left as quickly as possible, not knowing that even then my name and face were being sent out on various social media channels.

In twenty-five minutes I had walked to my hotel, collected my bag from the holding room, and paid my bill.

The desk clerk was idly thumbing over her mobile. "Say," she muttered, "ain't that you?" She held out the tiny screen towards me.

And there I was performing the back thump to little Henry. _Cornwall Doc Saves Little Boy_ the caption read. "Just doing my job. The boy was choking," I said stiffly. "He's fine."

She looked me up and down. "I suppose you was in the right place at the right time, then. None of that _Big Brother_ or _Corrie Street_ guff, right?" She held out the phone so I could see it again. "_This is _REAL! Good for you."

I nodded and fled towards the Tube station. If I'd not been there someone else would have… helped out; surely they would have. I stopped at that thought.

When I left Portwenn in two months time, who would help _my_ child, if something like that happened? I actually had to grasp a lamp post as I felt shaky.

_Ellingham_, I thought, _this is real - reality. And reality can be very cruel at times._


	30. Chapter 30

Released

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

I was taking a walk, for my OB had encouraged plenty of gentle exercise and I came upon Al and Pauline. They were hand in hand on the path and they smiled when they saw me. They looked to be very lovey-dovey the way they were relaxes and happy.

"Oh, Louisa, hi!" exclaimed Pauline. "I need to tell you that I got a wrong idea about you and Al."

"What was that?" I asked. "What idea?" It was a windy day and I'd not tied my hair back and I saw Pauline and Al through a curtain of my hair.

Al scratched his neck. "Louisa, there was some guff floating that you and me were… uhm, snogging in the street."

"What?" I shouted.

"_And_ _in_ your house," he added.

I was dumb founded. "Oh my God!" Was there no end to the nastiness village gossips could spread?

"I figure," he went on, "it started the night I fixed your computer."

I nodded sadly. "Well, that might explain some of the nasty looks I got from a few people. Even Martin."

Pauline dropped Al's hand and hugged me. "Louisa… you need to talk to him. I can hear him muttering, sometimes. And when he's like that he bangs cupboards and slams doors, yells at the patients, and me."

Al chuckled. "That's our Doc, mostly; sad to say."

Pauline elbowed him and he shut it. "Louisa, I'm just sayin'… is _he_ _misses_ _you_."

I sighed and pressed my lips together tightly.

"Oh, you know he _does_, if he hadn't, do you think he'd have asked you to marry, and then…" she touched my bump gently. "It wasn't planned, was it?"

"No, it wasn't. The condom was old and it broke." I stopped horrified at what I'd said. "Sorry. Too much information."

Al squinted into the wind. "Maybe," he looked down at Pauline. "But we been careful, right luv?"

Pauline reward him with a slap on the backside. "Al!"

"Sorry," he muttered. "How are your water works?"

I recoiled. "The uhm…" What was he asking? "What are you…"

"Your house? The pipes and the boiler? Fridge and all?"

"Oh… yeah… those. They work, fine now. And that rainstorm the other night actually went from roof to gutter and away." I smiled. "It was good of you to... help. So why did you want to be paid so soon?"

"Haven't you heard?" Pauline asked. "Al bought me a scooter - and it's _French_!"

I relaxed. "Oh, I see! That's good. I'll have to try it out some day… not in the next few weeks, of course."

"Thought about buying another car?" Al asked. "You sold yours when you moved."

I sighed. "Mrs. Spence bought it and then she moved away. I really liked that car; my first and _only_ one, so far." I rubbed my belly. "I'll need it some day, can't expect to keep getting rides forever, especially when this one comes along."

Pauline gripped both my hands. "Louisa, you need to sit down and chat with the Doc. You really do."

"And say just _what_, Pauline? Say what? Sorry we didn't marry? Sorry I left? Sorry I came back? What the hell am I supposed to tell him?" I pulled my hands away from her, now upset.

Al put his hand on my shoulder. "Louisa, none of my business, but I don't see that you not being with the Doc, and him without you, does the two of you any bloody good. And for that little one… pish."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence," I sighed. "But I don't see if we _can_… _get_ back together. Not sure we _could_ have a good result."

Pauline looked hard into Al's face. "Louisa, all we're sayin' is…"

"What?" The wind had picked up and now I felt cold, actually shivering. "What are you saying?"

Al grimaced. "Just talk, is all. See how that goes."

Pauline added, "Yeah; words, phrases, sentences. Stuff like, how are you Martin? The weather's fine. My ankles are swollen. Stuff."

"Oh, I'm sure discussing the weather will change everything, Pauline!" I shouted. "Now I _have_ to go." I ignored the swollen ankle comment for that was true. My flats were stretchy enough that I _could_ get my wider feet into them. Turns out there's a hormone called relaxin which, among other things, makes a mum's arches flatten making their feet wider. I was sure Martin could have told me all about the medical details, but I found it explained in a 'getting ready for baby book.'

"Louisa?" Pauline called at my back.

"Yes, Pauline?"

"Take care."

I nodded and waddled my way home. I had just opened the door when my mobile rang and I was surprised to see it was from Isobel Brown. Poor girl, she gave birth to her little girl on the day of the wedding, erh, my non-wedding out on the headland and on the grass. "Hello, Isobel?"

"Louisa! That doctor boyfriend of yours has done it _again_!" she cackled.

"What's Martin done this time? And he's not my boyfriend… anymore."

"Well on the telly they had a bit on the Cornish headlines about how _Doctor Martin Ellingham_, GP from Portwenn, had performed a Heimlich on some choking little boy in Jubilee Gardens in London!"

"It's a Heimlich Manoeuver, Isobel, not _a_ Heimlich. I've been trained in it. And… they said Martin… was in London?" I started to twist my hair.

"Oh yeah. Somebody filmed it - real jumpy on a mobile phone - but there he was big as life! I'd know him anywhere!"

"In _London_, you said."

"Yeah. Right there. I could see the Thames and the Eye in the background when he was talking to a policeman about it. That's London all right - no doubt about it."

"Was the kid - the boy - alright? It had to be London, then."

"Fine! Yeah. That Doc he does… get around…" she stopped then went on. "Sound's like you didn't know he was up in London."

"Martin _is_ a grownup, Isobel, and no _he_ _does_ _not_ need my permission to go places. He's a free man."

There was silence from her end. "Shame that," she sighed.

"Free? Shame that he's free?"

"Well, I suppose, since _you_ moved out on _him_, he figured he was released from _any_ obligation."

It was then my turn to be silent. Did I release him? Was that what I did?

"Oh, God, Lou I am sorry! Me and my dumb mouth! I guess I shouldn't have said anything."

My heart sank. "No, no that's… okay. Glad you called. How's Amy?" Amy was her baby born the day of the wedding.

"God, that kid is growing like a weed, even though I quit nursing her. And _OMG_ my baps are _so glad_ I stopped. You'll find out soon enough."

"Isobel, mother's milk is the optimum nutrition…" when she laughed I stopped speaking. "What's so comical?"

"You, Lou! For a second there you sounded just like Martin! _Optimum nutrition!_ Ha! Just like him!"

"Thanks, Isobel. I really needed that and I have to go. Been outside and I really need to wee."

"Boy, do I remember. Call me!"

Moments later I was sitting on my newly repaired toilet and had a really good cry. As the tears ran down my face, and the baby was kicking my bladder, I knew that I had to something. Something drastic.


	31. Chapter 31

Revelation

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

"Hey, Doc!" a voice yelled on the train just after we left Exeter. In typical fashion there were delays all along the line and it was getting late. I'd have to drive to Portwenn in the dusk, all the more at risk of sheep or cows wandering on the road.

"Oh, God," I groaned under my breath when I saw the rube approach.

"Jim! Jim Selkirk! That impetigo cleared up just like you said. I didn't thank you."

Selkirk, one of Portwenn's local farmers plopped himself down next to me and I tried not to gasp at his rich odor as a combo of beer, crisps, and sheep filled my nose.

"So thanks, Doc! Miracle worker, you are! I was tending to that for months myself."

"You're welcome." I turned back to my London Times, while Selkirk nattered on about sheep and his favorite, some ewe named Sheila of all things.

He then started humming, drinking, and munching crisps with abandon. "Oh, yeah, afor I fergit, listen to that!" He shoved his right hand at my ear and started flexing it. "Hear that? Clicks sometimes!"

"No! Likely just arthritis, but call my surgery! Make an appointment!"

"But, you're sittin' right here!"

"Appointment!" I shouted and tried to get back to the paper.

"Okay," he said. "Just figured…"

He stopped speaking when I shot him an angry look.

"Sorry, Doc." He said, then he chugged his beer and closed his eyes for a nap. In short order he began a strenuous symphony of sounds that would wake the dead. Clearly the gene for snoring, if there was one, ran rampant thru the Cornwall peoples.

I tried very hard to ignore the man, and I did manage to finish the financial page, when Selkirk started making very deep and noisy sounds which stopped. "Thank God," I muttered, but when his head fell to one side… that really got my attention.

I nudged him, but he sat motionless. I took his pulse, which was missing, along with any heartbeat when I pressed my ear to his chest. In short order, I pulled the emergency handle, which made the train stop and was laying him out in the aisle, just as the conductor ran up.

"What's amiss? Did you pull that lever?" he demanded.

"This man," I bent and loosened Selkirk's tie, "appears to have had a heart attack."

"Oh my God!"

"Don't just stand there you fool, get the AED! The yellow thing, on the wall there!"

The man scurried off to get the defibrillator and first aid kit, while I pressed on his chest and then started pulmonary assistance by blowing into his beery mouth.

"Is he dead?" a man asked.

"Not quite," I answered between actions but the way he had faded away was not a good sign.

But it was no good, for the defibrillator detected no pulse after I opened his shirt and glued the electrodes to his bare chest. The idiot machine tried shocking him three times, and would have kept going, his body horribly twitching as the device tried to shock his heart back into action.

Further CPR on my part and another five shocks only told me that the patient I labored over was no longer a patient, for Jim Selkirk had passed beyond any help of mine or technology.

"I never seen a dead body before," moaned the conductor. "I'm not really sure what to do. I musta missed that day of training."

I picked out two large men sitting nearby. "You and you! Help me carry him to the rear of the car."

"Just like that?" said the conductor. "Here one minute - gone the next." The oaf snapped his fingers.

The three of us took the body to an empty row at the rear of the car and I covered it with two blankets. A woman watched all this and started weeping.

"I thought those machines can bring them back?" she whispered. "Worked with my uncle."

"Not always," I replied. "If the electrical system of his heart failed, as I'm sure it did, then there was nothing anyone could do."

"Oh," she sniffed, "it seems so… _final_."

"Yes," I straightened the blanket and held my hand on the shoulder feeling the limbs already cooling. "Death is like that."

She fished out a rosary and began working the beads. "I'm praying for his soul."

"Suit yourself." I went back to the conductor who stood like a little boy shocked at the breaking of a toy. "Best call the motorman and we can get on."

The railway employee was clearly shocked. "Uhm, poor duffer. You know him?"

"One of my patients."

"Ah, old feller?"

"About sixty - maybe sixty-two. Sheep farmer - has a wife."

The man peered up at me. "So, you seen a lot - death - I mean."

"I've saved a few."

The man twisted his hands. "Maybe he went to a better place."

I glanced at my watch. "At least one of us has."

Soon we pulled into Bodmin station and I assisted the attendants remove the body. "You know," the conductor waxed philosophically. "This makes you realize how precious life is. Live each moment to the last. Carpe Diem. Hakuna matata."

I sneered. "This man celebrated _his_ precious life by eating _junk_ _food_ and giving himself a _heart_ _attack_."

"So you're sayin' the very thing that gave him pleasure, killed him?"

I nodded. "_You_ might. I wouldn't. Everyone dies."

The man gravely took my hand and shook it. "Thanks Doctor. You _tried_ to save him."

"The damage was already done long before he sat down on the train."

"But you tried. Thanks for that."

I looked down at the tubby man, where his belt was hidden under a roll of fat. "And as for you, I recommend more exercise, a diet of lean meats and fish and plenty of wholesome fruits and vegetables."

"A man has just died and you're giving me health advice?" He stood there shocked. "My you are a _cold_ one."

"Yes - some might say that. I'll get my bag."

I got into my car and watched the train pull away. Jim Selkirk's wife would be called by the Great Western Railway, so at least I'd not have to deal with any histrionics.

My drive back to the village was peaceful in the dusk and I left the radio opera station switched off. But there were nagging questions circulating in my head. What was I to do? I had both hands on the steering wheel, but I could tick them off one-by-one.

1 - Dashwood was clearly going to offer me a position at Imperial in London

2 - The timing would be before Louisa gave birth

3 - Louisa clearly did not want me near her

4 - I needed to get my blood-phobia under control

5 - But…

"Oh, damn it all!" I shouted. "If I _can't_ do surgery, I can't _take_ the job! And if I can't _do_ _surgery_ I have to _stay_ as a lowly GP! AND if I'm _stuck_ in bloody _Portwenn_, how in the hell can I bear to stay there with Louisa and our baby just a few minutes' walk away from surgery and not BE ABLE to BE WITH THEM! For if she doesn't… doesn't…" I gripped the wheel tightly and had to pull into a layby.

Shakily I got out of the car and faced the empty moor. "Shit! Shit!" I screamed at the empty landscape and kicked at a clod of turf. The land was as empty and barren as I felt. "And Louisa _doesn't love you_ Ellingham. Face it. She does not give a damn. Bugger!"

That was the horrible truth. I should leave - the village - and get as far away from her as possible. If I was forced to see her day after day, without… without… being with her - what then? I would surely go mad, if I wasn't already.

I knew the signs of a panic attack and they started quickly. Rapid pulse and breathing, sweat forming on my skin, a tickle at the back of my throat, and the pooling of saliva all lead to me vomiting into the grass, weakly holding onto the bonnet, gasping and shaking.

"Damn it," I said. "You poor bastard, you can't even take rejection like a man, can you?" As those words came out I sounded like my father and I sneered as harsh memories surfaced.

Standing there, leaning on my car, I knew what I had to do. I had one last chance to set things right, or as close as I could come. The sun was setting and brilliant Venus shone as an evening star. "Venus - goddess of love," I exclaimed.

There was a fainter star just visible as well, and it was a peachy-red in color. "That must be Mars, the planet Mars. God of war."

The planets danced in the heavens, and to human eyes, passing near and far apart. Ancient peoples thought those celestial comings and goings determined human fates as they moved in the heavens.

"Oh, rubbish. It's all rubbish," I said with the finality of revelation. "And this has been a giant faff - the whole thing. She doesn't love you Martin. Not _anymore_. Just go home and get ready to move." Once I'd said it, it seemed easier to consider. "Not anymore."

I got in and restarted the car. "Right. Get a grip, Ellingham. Do what you _have_ to do." I got back to surgery about nine o'clock and went straight to bed.


	32. Chapter 32

Restoration

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

"Alright, come on, kids!" I clapped my hands happily. "And as I told you, I want everyone to be on their _best_ behavior, especially you, Theo!"

Theo Wenn, class trouble-maker, shirker, and smart Alec, stood at the end of the line and tried to act like he cared not one bit what I was telling him. "Now," I went ion, "Mrs. Norton is _so kind_ to let us come here and tell us all about farming. I want you all to pay attention, for there will be a project paper due tomorrow." My kids groaned and I shooed them on. "Go on then, and Theo, a word."

He turned and I swear he stuck his tongue out.

I waited until the rest of the class walked up the path and I took Theo by the elbow behind the school van. "Theo, I really need you to behave. No nonsense, acting up or…" He stared through me like I was invisible. "You really don't care what I say, do you?"

He crossed his arms. "My dad says…"

"Says, what exactly? Never mind! Look. This is a school outing, it is part of our education plan, and…"

The little twerp smirked.

"Just you have a care, Theo! Now off to Mrs. Norton with the rest of your class!" He turned and swaggered off.

I sighed at his back. There was a phrase for kids like Theo. His mother and father had clearly been filling his head that he was God's gift to the world.

I glared at his the back of his tousled head as he strutted off and if he was my child, I'd certainly set him straight. But he wasn't my child and my child wasn't born yet, for he, or she, was kicking me merrily at the moment.

One thing led to another and in no time at all, Martin was leaning over Theo as he lay in the dust of Joan's chicken run, kicking and gasping. The boy had gone into the run, tormented the birds (according to Joan) and she'd clapped him into the roosting house. By the time I'd pried open the door and let him out he looked pasty and was wheezing horribly.

Martin grumpily examined the child. "He's normal."

I'd called him just as soon as I pulled Theo out of the coop and his condition made me terribly frightened.

Joan stamped her foot. "_He_ might be normal, but he was kicking at my _birds_! That one," she pointed to a squawking bird, "he'd grabbed by the leg and was flinging her about!"

I jumped to my feet. "Joan! That is _no excuse_ for locking him into the chicken house! Besides the smell, which is quite putting me off, it is not an _appropriate_ punishment for bad behavior!"

Martin looked up. "I was locked into a cupboard lots of times by my dad; never did me any harm."

Joan gave me a look that spoke volumes at that remark. "All the same," she shouted, "I want this boy out of here! Away from me, my chickens, and my farm!" She marched to the gate and held it open. "Now!"

I had to go to Theo's defense, as much as I hated to. "Joan, these students are in my care! I'll not let you…"

Martin butted in. "And having their teacher and a pensioner yelling at one another is such a _wonderful_ way to settle things, don't you think?"

I glared at him but then I relaxed. "You may be… you _are_ right, Martin."

Martin helped the child to stand. "There. He's fine."

"Good, good," I said. "Theo, you are okay? I'm sure this has been a giant misunderstanding."

The kid sneered at me. "That old bat will find out how mad my mum and dad get for what she's done!" He stomped off, as much as an eight-year-old could stomp in trainers on dusty ground. "We'll fix her and fix her good!"

Martin stood by me and watched the little monster leave. "Horrid." He made a face.

Joan slammed the gate behind him and wrung her hands, her face beet red.

"Joan, are you okay?" I asked her.

"Fine," she moaned. "Just angry."

"Theo is just… a little…" I fiddled with the hem of my shirt. "Sorry I had to call you out during morning surgery."

"You had no way of knowing it was a panic attack, or a tantrum." He cleared his throat while dusting off his trousers. "Tantrum, most likely."

"Still, I _am_ sorry. I know how busy you are."

Joan went through the gate towards the house in a huff.

Martin sighed. "Uhm… Louisa, we should… talk."

"Okay, but do you really think standing in a chicken run, amidst these smelly and noisy chickens is quite the time and place?" I nodded at my class who had their tiny noses stuck through the fencing. "And _lots_ of little ears about?"

"Can we at least agree to meet up at some point?" He squinted down at me in the morning sunlight. "But you're fine? Health okay? Foetus is…" his large hand wavered over my belly without touching it, "growing?"

"Yep, up two pounds since last week."

"Good, good, that is…" he stopped. "I'm not saying that you are…"

I rubbed my bulge. "But I am; I'm _fat_."

He eyed my nosy class. "Can you come by surgery later, perhaps 6 PM?" he whispered. "I need to say... things that… may… affect us."

"Oh?" I winked. "A truce, perhaps?"

"More of a restoration of communication, if you will."

"Fine, yeah, that would be fine," I smiled at him. "I'd like that."

"You can stay."

"What?"

"Erh, for _dinner_, if you wish. I bought a fish."

I had been about to ask if he wanted to me to stay for more than dinner, half-heartedly, when I heard banging in the background. Theo Wenn, little monster, was kicking the blazes out of Joan's metal bins. "Better see to that."

"Right," Martin said. "Until tonight, then."

"I'd like that, Martin. Bye." I left the chicken run, saying, "Come kids – to the van – and back to school. Our field trip is over."

They all groaned for anything outside of school was fun, and not school. Theo Wenn left the bins and dashed towards the school van, where he began to kick the tires. I'll settle him soon enough!

I looked back at Martin. Martin stuck out like a red fire truck on the moor in his dapper suit and tie, right where I'd left him, in the middle of the chicken yard, surrounded by scratching and flustered birds, the sagging and tattered fencing barely keeping Joan's hens in check. He seemed to be as trapped as the birds, behind the wire. But from the tiny bit of wistfulness on his face, I just had to smile at him.

Martin nodded, and then smiled just for a second – only a second.

But seeing that one flick of his cheek muscles, gave me hope.


	33. Chapter 33

Risk

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

The cod fillet was nearly finished broiling when Louisa arrived, as usual, a few minutes late. She came to the back door all in a flurry. "Sorry, Martin," she apologized. "I had to call the Board about Theo."

I pulled the potatoes off the boil so they could simmer. "He _is_ sick."

"You've heard."

"His mum was calling me nearly every ten minutes until I went to their house. Do you know they are _trying_ to run their failed boat supply from _their home_?"

I nodded my head. "I did hear they lost the lease on the warehouse."

"Seeing a patient after clambering over rolls of cordage and bales of flotation foam was less than optimum."

"So, come on then."

"Come on what?"

"How is Theo? _My_ student?"

"Vomiting and diarrhea." I turned from the cooker.

"But do you think it's from Joan's?"

I shook my head. "I doubt it's bird flu, if that's what you're thinking. Why did you have to call the Board?"

She rolled her eyes. "His mother had _already_ called the school complaining _I_ had put her child in danger."

"Danger?" I bent over the cooker and stirred a pot. "The most danger _that_ child is likely to be in is _from_ _his_ _own_ parents!"

"You've noticed they are difficult."

"At least they are involved in parenting, even if they are hovering." I stirred a pot again, and put the lid on. "Beans."

"Beans?" she said.

"Fine beans."

She smiled at me and it felt good to see that. "It does all smell very nice." I'd set the table for two, glasses, cutlery and plates all aligned. I'd also set a vase in the center of the table with daisies.

"Oh flowers," she said in an amazed voice.

"Uhm… they… were at hand…" I cleared my throat. "Thought they might be…"

"Thank you, Martin. They _do look nice_."

I washed my hands at the sink and took off the apron. "Yes." I sprang to her side and pulled out a chair. "Let me help you."

She sat slowly as I gently pushed her chair closer to the table.

"Thanks, Martin. A bit awkward lately." Her bulge wouldn't fit under the table and she fiddled with her napkin. "Bigger."

I nodded. "A few more minutes." I went to the fridge and took out a carafe. "Cranberry juice?"

She nodded and I poured it. Of course my glass held tap water. I sat down across from her. "So…"

"So…" she said. "Here we are."

Silence settled and I broke it. "The house, your house, uhm… Mr. Routledge's house… is working out?"

She sipped from his glass. "Yep, got it all clean and tidy. Joan was a _huge_ help."

"Small though."

"Yeah… oh, the flat-pack with the cot came."

I set my glass down. "I'll come over and assemble it, shall I?"

She smiled. "That would be lovely. Thank you."

I sighed just looking at her. Louisa's hair was pulled back in her trademark ponytail, and she wore a white wrap shift over a camisole that was lace edged at the neck. She wore her garnet necklace, the red stone a centimeter from the mole just to left of centerline on her clavicle. Her trousers were light gray, set off by gold shoes. She touched her hair and gazed at me and I could not keep from looking at her. "You are well?" She was so… she looked so… nice.

She nodded. "I am… pretty much."

The timer dinged and I knew the fish was ready. "Dinner then."

000

We had eaten and I had offered her an apple and berry crumble, of which she took a small portion.

"You're not having any?" she asked. "This is _really_ good."

"I rarely eat dessert."

"I do like my afters," she laughed. "Oh! You mean you fixed it just for me?"

I could only nod and toy with my espresso cup.

"So nice. Thanks."

"You're welcome." I watched as she enjoyed the sweet. "That's Joan's recipe. She said it came from her grandmother."

"It's _really_ good. You'll have to teach me… to… make…" she stopped and set her spoon down. "Maybe later. Uhm, I have to use the toilet, if I may."

"Of course." I rose and she waddled slowly down the hall around the corner. I breathed heavily after she left for I had come to the point of the evening and there was no longer any reason to delay.

When she returned, I suggested we move into the lounge and I held back until she settled herself on the sofa. I stood in front of her, hands clasped behind my back. "Louisa."

"Yes?" she looked up expectantly. "I was thinking, wondering, how we might… manage."

"Manage?"

"You know - _you_, _me_, _our baby_." Her hands had crept to her bulge where she cradled it; rubbing it. "Won't be long now."

"You _do_ _know_ that I will provide for the child."

"That sounds rather formal."

"I'd not want you to want… for anything."

"Thank you, Martin."

"I have written to my solicitor... uhm… to check on the legalities."

"Well, I had no doubt that you _would_ see it that way." She sighed. "We're not _quite_ conventional, are we? We tried though. And I was wondering… if we might… uhm." She stopped her eyes wide. "No, gone on. You first."

I looked hard at her for a moment then said what I had to say. "Louisa, I have been thinking about…"

"About?"

"Uhm… going back to surgery."

"Isn't that risky? Can you do it?"

"I'm sure…" I had to breathe carefully, "I will be able."

She sat back. "Well! That _is_ news. I'm sure Wadebridge or Truro would be glad to have you."

"No." I felt my hands get more sweaty. "I've just been up to London."

She fiddled with her hair nervously. "So I had heard."

"Oh… well, and while there… I had… an _interview_… at Imperial College." The words were like razor blades in my throat.

"A job interview?"

"Uhm, yes… head of Vascular Surgery. Robert Dashwood would like to take me on."

"At Imperial College?" Now she had taken on a horrified look.

"Yesss."

"In _London_?" Even more horrified now, her face was, with a touch of terror it seemed to me.

"Yes, it is; the facility is on Waterloo Road."

She sat there motionless. "London," she said slowly and then crossed her arms. "You're saying you'll be moving _back to London_."

I could only nod.

"London." She struggled up to her feet. "I'll just go then."

"I wanted you to hear it from me, first, and not some gossip in the market or at your school."

She took a step, then stopped and whirled to face me. "And I came up here hoping I might be able to talk about you and me, Martin!" She sighed and her chest heaved. "Well, fine. Go to London! Take the job! Follow your dream, Martin. I'll just…"

I closed my eyes. "I don't _want_ to hurt you. But you _needed_ to be told. Yes, it is a risk, for me. My skills will have decayed, new tools and procedures put in place I'll have no knowledge of…"

"A risk?" She took a step towards me so her pregnant belly pushed against me, so we were not quite eye-to-eye. "Well, you go _right ahead_, then! Me and Demosthenes will stay right here in Portwenn! Right?"

"Demosthenes?" I harrumphed.

"The _baby_ – it's a silly name, okay?" she shouted.

"Why in God's name would you christen a seven-month foetus after an ancient Greek orator?"

She sighed. "_You just don't_ understand, do you? It's a _joke_, Martin! Just like you and me! A _bloody joke_!"

"Louisa," I said, but I was addressing her flying hair as she zoomed out the back door. I quickly followed, catching up on the front terrace. "Louisa?"

She stopped and her shoulders fell and then she slowly half-turned. "What?"

"I… but _you_ wanted to tell me something."

"I'm _really_ happy for you Martin, if you get the job. Good show, if you can actually go and do that."

"But that's not what you came to tell me, is it?"

She put her head in her hands briefly. "Martin, as I said, we're just a bad joke. Thanks for dinner. It was nice." She turned to go.

"That all?"

Her head turned. "I was going to…"

"Yes, you were going to say, what exactly?"

She took a look at the steep steps down from the terrace, then walked back past me uphill where the terrace met the incline and started walking away down the steep hill.

I was frozen for several second, but then, recalling far too many times I had stood in nearly that spot and watched the back of her retreat, I was forced to say something. "Louisa, no. Please."

That stopped her. "What's that?" She sounded choked up.

"I… please, Louisa. Let's not be _like this_. Not once more."

She stopped and looked sadly up at me. "We are what we are Martin. You've made your choice." Her slender hand came up in a wave. "Bye."

Her last words were sad and bittersweet and I ached for her, and for me. I marched after her in a risky advance. "Louisa, no! Stop! I… need you."

"What's that?" she said and she did stop, then ponderously turned about to face me.

She was so beautiful, so very beautiful from her perfect skin to her imminent motherhood fairly bursting from her. My throat went dry and my pulse was pounding and in that moment that I almost felt the world turn.

"Louisa," I started to say when my mobile started ringing.


	34. Chapter 34

Reprise

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

I was so upset, just shattered, though I tried not to let it show. When I told Martin to 'go to London' it was almost what I'd told Danny two years ago. So in an eerie reprise of that moment I was facing a similar issue; a man, with whom I wished to have an ongoing relationship, had just made plans to leave Portwenn. Except this time I had been bedded and nearly wedded to him, and now… I was to be a mum, and it appeared I _would_ be going it alone.

But then Martin said, "Louisa, no! Stop! I… need you."

"What's that?" I said and laboriously turned to face him.

Martin was wearing a fine suit of course, with a nice blue shirt and dark stripped tie, and I could have sworn it was the same suit he had on the day he proposed. Surely it couldn't be, but no, it had to be - suit, shirt, and tie – the same. He stood tall, a commanding presence, but his face was drawn, mouth downcast, and his fingers twitched nervously. Surely he never looked like that with his patients as he barked orders and whizzing through medical exams.

But when he was around me he was tentative, unless he'd lost his temper, edgy sort of, and when he looked at me the way he was right now, I felt he was trying to batter his way through the walls of isolation he'd built for himself.

"Louisa," he started to say when his mobile buzzed.

My heart sank, lower if that was possible.

The mobile buzzed again and he raised his hand to take it out, but he stopped.

After the third buzz, I said, "You'd better get that."

"No."

That was unheard of. "What? Might be important."

"Louisa," he took out the phone, tapped something, and put it away. "If I am talking to you, and I am, and the mobile rings… blast! This is all coming out wrong!"

I really wanted to hear what he'd said before. "You said… you _need_ me?"

He closed his eyes but then they snapped open. "I _do_."

"Need me for _what_ exactly?" I said, fiddling with my blouse.

"I… need you… no, want you…" he sighed and held out his hand. "Louisa, I am appalling at this."

"I know." I nodded. "Martin, I _am_ sorry. Sorry for a _lot_ of things, actually."

Martin looked away. "Come back to the house, if you'd like."

"Oh." I grew wary, wondering who this person was facing me – one totally unlike Martin Ellingham, MD.

I heard slowly shuffling footsteps and Bert approached. "Doc? Louisa! Hello! Say, Doc can I ask you to look at something? It's about my foot, see? I stubbed my toe something awful and it's fair killing me! If you could just have a look?"

Martin pursed his lips. "My office is _closed_, Bert! Call for an _appointment_."

"But, Doc, it's really hurting!" Bert whinged. "I can't sleep and I can barely walk. You have to help me!"

"Martin, go ahead," I told him. "This will wait. I'll see you later."

Martin raised a hand in the universal stop signal. "Louisa, no! Wait! And Bert, soak it in ice water, take paracetamols and call the office _in the morning_ for an appointment!"

"Oh… maybe _now_ might a bad time… but…" Bert muttered. "I can see I'm butting in!" he chuckled. "But medicine isn't always on the time-clock, is it? Now about my toe…"

Martin lowered his hand and took a step forward. "Bert!" he said through gritted teeth. "Do as I said! NOW! GO! AWAY!"

Bert ducked his head, his face fallen. "Alright, sorry."

I watched this exchange with my head cocked and my senses on alert. I'd _never_ seen Martin act _this_ _way_ around a patient. "Martin… not so _mean_," I whispered. "Not his fault he's ailing!"

Bert slowly walked away and Martin rolled his eyes at me briefly. "Bert!" he yelled.

Bert turned hopefully. "Yeah Doc?"

He sighed. "Come to my surgery at 8:30 tomorrow."

"I thought your office don't open 'til nine?" Bert asked.

"Come early."

Bert's feet scuffled off and we were left alone in the twilight. I guess we were standing there for at least a minute, neither of us saying a word.

I looked up at Martin as he looked at me. Finally Martin held out his hand and I took it. His fingers were damp but it felt good to hold it. Then he tugged on it and pulled me towards him. "Louisa…" he whispered.

"Fine" I said and he walked me back into the house.

000

Back to the sofa, but this time, I sat on one end, and he on the other. There was a space about two feet wide between us, but I turned to the side to see him better. "Ah, now…"

"Louisa. Just tell me, what you wanted to say."

My heart was thudding shaking my chest and my throat felt tight. "Okay."

He looked at me passively.

"You said… you needed me, Martin," I repeated his words.

He exhaled noisily through his nose. "I… do."

I looked around the room. "I don't see any bodies or pools of blood."

"What?"

"Seems that's what it takes for you to open up; that or a bottle of wine."

"There _was_ a body."

"Oh my God! Where?"

"On the train, yesterday - Jim Selkirk. Sitting right next to me."

"Yeah, I'd heard that. His poor wife."

"It was a heart attack." Martin clasped his hands together. "Louisa… there was this woman… there praying for him."

"People do that, you know. Are you? Religious?'

"God no." He paused and I saw him gulp. "But it made me think."

"About death."

He turned away.

"But _you've seen_ people die. More than I ever will."

"Louisa, if I…" he stopped. "If something would happen…"

"Died?" I asked and he nodded. "Is something wrong? Tell me!"

"No. No, I'm healthy. Just…"

"Martin everyone dies. It's part of life."

"At least there would part of me left behind." He swept his hand up and rested it gently on my bump. "Here."

I covered his hand with mine. "Yes… there is… there _will be_." He tried to pull his hand away, but I held fast. "It's okay, Martin. You'll be a father." I felt a warm glow spread up my chest and down my legs at his touch.

He sagged. "I don't know the first bloody thing about it! Fatherhood!"

"There are books." I rubbed his hand. "You can read them."

"Probably written by childless psychiatrists!" he scoffed. "Fat lot of good that would do me!"

I smiled at him. "Actually I've found those books to be helpful. Been reading. And do you think I know anything about mothers; _being one_?" I rubbed the back of his hand. "Got to start somewhere."

"That's a start then," he said. He took his hand away and I missed his touch. "Enough about me. You have something to say."

I looked hard at Martin, knowing he had no friends, barely a girlfriend, and I bet his sum total of romantic encounters was me and Edith. Not much on dating, clearly, and I was pretty sure that Montgomery was a less than wholesome person for him when they were in medical school. I had a grim fantasy just then of the two of them tangled in the sheets, reviewing anatomy or the biochemistry of the endocrine system. I shook my head to clear those odd thoughts.

"Martin," I began. "I left you… how to say... this?" My lip was taking hell from my teeth.

He looked at me warily.

"It wasn't your fault," I told him and just saying that much was a load of my shoulders.

"Not me? But… I was certain, ahem, that I put you off."

I shook my head. "Nope. The bust up was me – _all me_ – not that you didn't have _some_ part of it."

His mouth gaped like a fish. "Oh…" he gulped. "Go on."

I scooted closer to him and touched his leg which was rigid with tension. "And there's something else, Martin; something that I desperately need to tell you."

I braced myself. "More surprises?"

"No," she sighed. "It goes like this. When I was a girl and my mum and dad fought, which was often, I wasn't happy, mum wasn't happy, and neither was my dad. They were both crap parents and I swore that I'd _never_ let myself get into that sort of a muddle. So, when we got together…"

My heart fell. "You weren't happy."

"Not always, no. And I guess I just imagined that _happiness_ is _constant_ in a relationship. But it's not is it?"

"Hardly." He cautiously took my hand. "Now about the…"

"Shush." I put my fingers to his lips. "Now, back to my little problem. When Eleanor and Terry were fighting they said _awful_ things. She'd yell at him, 'I never should have married you!' And he'd yell back, 'Well then you never should have gotten pregnant!' And then she'd go on about one bloody night when they both were drunk, it was raining and cold and late, and he didn't have a condom."

"Dreadful," he said slowly. "Parents can be _horrible_."

"Yeah." I said and scooted forward, pressing against him as close as I could and I felt tears brim in my eyes. "So when I moved down to the pub and then to Mr. Routledge's house, I was staying well away from you so we'd _not_ get married. I was afraid, so bloody scared deep down in my soul - that we'd end up just like my mum and dad - fighting like cats and dogs and miserable. And I could _never_ bring a baby into that sort of home. That's _why_ I left."

"Oh," he relaxed and put an arm around me. "So… now what?"

"Oh, Martin, you idiot!" I yelled. "I was _wrong_, so _very wrong_, and I could kick myself for the time we've wasted!" I kissed his neck, then his cheek and then his lips.

He sat in shock, it seemed. "Oh, Louisa… uhm… what?" he muttered at last while I searched his face for a clue to what he might be thinking. "What are you saying?" he asked me. "Do you…"

"So, Martin," I asked, with lips trembling and tears running down my face, "can I come home?"


	35. Chapter 35

Reaction

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

"Louisa, you _are_ home. You're in Portwenn," I said to her. "Your village."

"Not quite what I meant, Martin." She rested my head against mine. "Can I stay?"

My lips twitched against her cheek, tasting salt. "Of… of course." I felt her relax and she almost slid out of my embrace to the floor. I pulled out my kerchief and dabbed her face.

"I've been so stupid; so stupid." She took the cloth and wiped her nose. "So dumb."

I kissed her hairline. "Louisa, you were doing… what you thought you needed to do."

She nervously looked up at me. "Like you…" her teeth clenched onto her lip. "Ahem, surgery."

"Don't talk about that now," I told her and leaned back against the sofa, not letting her go.

"But what about it, Martin? Hmm? About us? This baby of ours has to be born somewhere."

"I haven't got the job yet, and there are hospitals in London."

"So what do you want to do?"

I peered at her quizzically. "Do?"

"Now."

Now? Right now I just wanted to hold her and not let her go. I wanted to stay right there on the sofa with her arms around me and mine around her. Her bump was pressed against my side and I felt a little jab. "That a kick?"

"Yes. She does that."

"Scans didn't show, ahem, the gender."

"I didn't want to know, remember?"

"Yesss." I closed my eyes. "Louisa?"

"Yes, Martin?" she hugged me tighter, her voice getting softer.

I knew part of what has happening. Studies have shown that oxytocin, a long-chain amino acid, is released at various times in the life of a mammal, notable in the pregnant mother during childbirth and post-partum, playing an important role in labor and breast feeding. Males too can get this effect, as the chemical can be released into the human brain during arousal, love making, or simple hugging. Arguments still ensue over the effect of the chemical upon higher, as well as lower brain functions. Yet there is evidence that pair-bonding and mother-to-child bonding is certainly partially dependent upon various hormones, including oxytocin.

Some call it 'the _love_ hormone' which I found specious, because of the difficulty of determining true actions in homo sapiens, since such things as sexual response are so much mediated by higher brain functions. It is the brain that decides on love or hate – pleasure or pain – given a stimulus and response, some of which is learned and the remainder is biological. Yet there is an oxytocin receptor in our bodies, and there was no doubt I was feeling the effects.

And the way Louisa was purring meant she was feeling something as well.

My heart was beating faster, and blood pressure was also up, I could tell by the tension in various parts of my body, especially my groin. There was no doubt that I was reacting in a very positive and pleasurable way to our embrace. She smelled of Kenzo flower, and I knew that was what I wanted near to me – _that_ smell, on _her_ warm skin.

Louisa snuggled closer, practically burrowing into me and I did not mind. Her enlarged and firm, yet also soft, bosom was very noticeable against my chest, in contrast to the taut football resilience of her pregnant abdomen. I glanced down and could see the multitude of engorged veins in the skin of her upper chest including the upper part of her mammaries. Her milk ducts were likely very well developed now, along with a larger foundation of fatty tissue in her chest, and along with the metabolic load of uterus, placenta, and foetus, her blood volume had increased by nearly half, thereby ensuring proper blood flow, as well as distending all her veins, especially the thin-walled ones below the skin.

Louisa pulled back slightly and looked at my face and then down where I had been looking. "Are you looking down my top?" she smirked and raised an eyebrow.

"No," I said. No need to relate the biology lecture I had been engaged in. "Louisa…" I squirmed.

"Am I holding you too tightly?" Her arms slackened a little, one hand started stroking the back of my neck.

I had to tug at my trousers which had gone tight in the front. "No."

She loosened her grip and putting her head on my shoulder, said, "You didn't answer my question."

"Uhm?"

"I asked if I could come home." She raised her head and looked me straight in the eye. "To _your_ house, that's what I meant."

I nodded. "Yes."

"Yes?" she asked.

"I said yes."

"Uhm, to?"

"Stay, Louisa," I said and kissed her full on the mouth. "Please stay."

She raised an eyebrow and asked slowly, "And for just how long?"

"As long as we might live."

She chuckled a little. "I may just take you up on that."

"That would be good," I managed to say, before she smothered my face with kisses.


	36. Chapter 36

Interlude

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

The white and brown dog pushed at the back door and prying with his black nose, managed to get his snout, then his head, and then his whole body inside the cottage. Tail wagging happily he hopped into the kitchen where the delicious smell of fish and other things teased his nose.

He jumped up on a chair and was able to put several very satisfying licks into his mouth from the remnants on one plate. The other was wiped clean so he returned to the floor and stumpy tail wagging mightily and doggy goofy grin wide he went into the front room and saw the man and the woman wrapped about each other on the cushioned sofa.

The man he knew very well and would liked to have known him better. The woman was from the village and although he had no firm attraction to her, yet his mistress had given the woman any number of trips in her truck. Buddy did not know very much about her, but even he could see she would having puppies and very soon.

From his angle low on the floor he cocked his head from side-to-side, trying to determine with his little doggy brain, if the people were in any distress.

He sat down and licked at one paw for a moment then, stretching out full length on the slate relaxed, keeping a careful eye on the people, both of whom were fast asleep.

The dog, who sometimes answered to the name of "Buddy," laid there for quite a while, until the pinks and purples went from the sky and it grew darker. He cocked his ears at the sounds of the human breathing, one slow and even, while the other one - the higher-pitched one - rasped back and forth in a buzz-saw that hurt his ears. Yet after a time the noise became soothing to him and he drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

**What? No! Don't yell! The story is not over! Promise! I do!**

**I must take a short break from writing due to personal ventures but rest assured I will return to it when I am able to devote the time it requires and demands. See you soon.**

**Cheers, **

**Rob**


	37. Chapter 37

Rest

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

It was a dream or it felt like one for everything had a soft and out-of-focus quality to it. I was lying on my side, and there was a soft blanket over me. The surface on which I lay was not flat like a mattress, but more like a sofa and the pillow under my head was itchy and rough. I could hear the soft trickle of water nearby along with swishing and splashing , which part of my brain realized was someone doing the washing up.

Just prior to that I heard shouting and paws scampering and a door slam. The room was dark, even through my half-closed eyes, and there was a sort of furry essence to it that tickled my nose. I pried my eyes open and realized I was resting, had been asleep actually, on Martin's sofa. We had been hugging and kissing and the next I knew I was lying flat, covered by a blanket. "Martin?" I called out.

In an instant he was kneeling down, hands sheathed in yellow rubber gloves, with an apron around his waist peering at my face. "Louisa. You fell asleep."

I lifted my head and peered around, seeing I was in his front room. "I see that." I glanced at his hands. "Washing up?"

"The dishes needed to be cleared. Did I wake you?"

"No, no, not really. But did I hear you saying something about a dog?" I levered myself to a sitting position, or tried to, which was hard as my waist had disappeared. "I'll help you."

"No need," he said taking my arm and helping me to sit up. "Nearly done."

I rose awkwardly holding the blanket across my shoulders as it was cool in the house. "But still…" He looked at me with a concerned look in the dimness. "Goodness, it's late."

"Nearly ten. And that blasted dog was in here. Must have gotten in somehow."

_Blasted dog_ had to belong to Joan. I sniffed and recognized the damp fur smell as that of dog. "Martin I think Buddy likes you."

"Filthy animal."

I smirked at him. "You do seem to have a certain animal magnetism," I said then pecked him on the cheek. "So why didn't you chuck him out straight away?"

He looked away. "Uhm, I suppose... that… when the… animal got in… we were both asleep."

"We both were asleep?"

"Yes. I have found that having a full stomach after a long and stressful day can be sleep inducing."

"So… you too?"

"I managed to disentangle myself without waking you, and laid you down as I am sure you needed rest. Then I covered you with a blanket."

I hugged him. "You were taking care of me. Thanks for that." I felt his back stiffen as I touched him. "Something wrong?"

He shook his head.

"Must be or why would you be so tense?"

"Louisa," he sighed. "I…"

I waited for more but nothing else came from his mouth. "Yeah… I get it," I said and let him go and sat down on his sofa with effort with my heart in my mouth as I asked, "Can I still stay?"

"What?" he blurted. "Of course, whatever… no!"

It was as I feared I'd dashed the whole thing to splinters. "Oh, I'll go then." I tried to get up but Martin had dropped to his knees and stripping off the silly yellow gloves, took my hands.

"No, you, uhm, can't. You… have to…" he took a deep breath. "Louisa, I only… went to London…"

"What's London got to do with it?"

He shook his head. "I didn't think that we… would… uhm… be…"

"Together? Right, I did run off, didn't I?"

"Not as far as London though - not _this_ time."

I pried a hand free and put it around him. "Hold me."

He did, in fits and starts, not sure how to hold a pregnant woman as when I quit his house I was barely showing.

I guided his hands to my waist and neck and I kissed him. "I won't break, you know."

"Right." He kissed me on his own as I felt my need for him rise.

"Martin."

"Louisa?"

"Uhm…" I bit my lip, "if I'm to stay I'll need some things from Mr. Routledge's."

"Of course."

"Better waddle over there and get some things if I'm staying over."

"I'll drive you," he said as he helped me stand.

"Thanks."

He ducked his head. "Glad to… help," came from his mouth with undertone of sadness.

From the look in his eye, I had to turn and give him such a long considered stare. I had only been thinking of myself - my thoughts, my feelings, my needs. Yet from the way that Martin stood by my side, with an almost hangdog expression, it nearly broke my heart. "You're afraid," I blurted out.

"No."

I wisely stood there silently for a few seconds and then took his hand. "Martin, I am grateful, you know. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

He stared at me.

"Martin, just say it."

"And why would I not want to help you? Be with you? Do you think that I…" he stopped and I saw his Adam's apple move as he gulped. "Don't care for you, Louisa? My God! Do you think that little of me?"

"Martin, I know this is hard for you and I now damn well how hard this has been for me too."

He squared his shoulders. "Louisa, Aunt Joan says the Ellingham's never say what is most important. But she's wrong! Having said that, I must say this…"

I grasped his sweaty fingers firmly. "Gone on." The baby kicked and rolled over and I actually felt faint waiting for him to tell me something which must be _very_ important for he said so little of a personal nature, and I didn't even get him _drunk_, this must be monumental.

"Louisa," he went on, "if I thought you _didn't_ love me anymore, I'd not know what I would do. For if _you_ _didn't_ care… for me… all of this would have been a horrible waste, except for curing a few stupid and smelly fishermen, and… giving you an unplanned child. So that explains London."

"That it?" I said as tears pricked my eyes.

He guardedly looked back at me. "Yeah."

The cliff was so very tall but I stepped off it anyway, not knowing if water or rock lay at the foot of it. "Martin… I do… _love_ you."

I actually saw him brush at his eye. "That's good."

I rubbed his hand. "Now, can we get some things from my house?"

He nodded.

The work of grabbing some clothing, a baby book or two, and my toiletries took only ten minutes. Martin silently helped me fold clothing into my suitcase, and then he looked about my bedroom. I'd expected him to recoil at the sight of my underthings, but being no worse than a flood of blood to his hypersensitive feelings, he soldiered on. He blinked rapidly when I put the white maternity nightdress he'd bought me in the case and I gave him an encouraging smile. "Thanks."

He grinned for just a second, and then went to other matters. "That it? What will you do with this house? It's costing you money."

"I… I've heard from Mr. Routledge's great-cousin, who heard I was living here. She wants to work out a partial rent. A few details to work out. She's a writer and wants to have a country place - peace and quiet she said."

"Right." He snapped the latches closed for me and hefted it. "Not that heavy."

I looked about the small room and sighed.

"Problem?" he asked.

"No. Take me home, Martin, would you?"

I locked the door and he gingerly escorted me to the car over the uneven pavers through the drizzle that had started. Martin had just slid my case into the boot and seated himself next to me when Penhales's jeep pulled to a stop next to the Lexus.

"Oh, God," groaned Martin.

"Need assistance?" shouted Penhale across the gap. "Problem, Doctor Ellingham?" he peered at the car through the gloom. "Oh! That Miss Glasson? Hello, Louisa? Everything okay?"

Martin looked from him to me then back. "We're fine; she's fine."

Penhale's brow furrowed as he was not the smartest of policemen, not nearly as intelligent as the departed Mark Mylow. "Going somewhere, Louisa?"

I smiled. "Going home, Joe."

"But…" Joe said, then his face cracked a smile.

"Good bye," said Martin who rolled up his window, started the motor and drove away. "That cretin will likely be telling everyone in the village inside of the next ten minutes," he sniffed.

"Oh, Joe's alright."

Martin made a tight circle at the top of the hill then drove back into the village. Penhale's jeep was unmoving, and as we passed, Joe stuck his head out his window and gave us a thumb's up.

"Maybe not," I added, as I'd seen he had his mobile up to his ear.

"Problem?" Martin asked as he approached the Platt and suddenly there were five or six people out in the dark, just come from the Crab and Lobster. They cheered and waved as we drove through them.

"God!" muttered Martin. "Can no one give us privacy?"

I had to laugh. "Martin, you _will_ be shutting off your mobile tonight. I know you don't like to, but I had hoped we might have a little privacy, at least for one night."

He parked the car and gave me a scared look as he undid his seatbelt. "Louisa, surely you don't mean, uhm…mean… uhm?"

I patted his knee and ran a hand up his leg. "I most certainly, do, Martin. Resting on your couch was one thing, but if we're going to be together," I rubbed my bump, "better expect to treat me like a lady."

His eyes practically jumped from his head. "Uhm, Louisa, if you mean _sex_ - late in pregnancy, and you are only eight weeks from your due date - can be injurious…"

I poked him in the ribs and he stopped. I stretched up and kissed his cheek. "Martin, I_ most certainly do_, and _no_ I'm not made of glass, and…" I ran my hand down his neck and felt him shiver, "Sex… we'll _see_."

"Oh," he said. "I'd not want to…"

"Well, what if _I_ want to? I saw you eyeing the nightdress I packed. And if you think you can wear those old stuffy buttoned-up-to-the-ears things you wore in the winter - well forget it. I'm binning those first thing."

"Oh…" he said nervously. "If you're sure."

"So come on Martin, take me inside."

He meekly climbed from the car and carrying my case took me into the house.


	38. Chapter 38

Rhapsody

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story places no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

"Louisa, you could have talked, to me, at any time," I said as we went inside. "About your concerns… about us… about me."

She stripped off her raincoat. "I know," she sighed, "So where do we begin?"

"Begin?" I asked.

"How about taking my case up?"

I lugged the thing upstairs while she followed me to the bedroom.

"Just set it down," she said.

I warily did as I was told, thinking that she's come back. _She's_ _back_, Ellingham, I thought, so _don't_ muck it up! The words of Mr. Porter came to my mind. 'Do you make her happy?' "Louisa?" I asked.

She was brushing her hair at the large mirror. "Yes, Martin?"

I sighed. "This will sound awkward."

"Can't be as awkward as your pregnant girlfriend ditching you in a small village. And then she comes back."

That bolt shot home. "Yes; unexpected."

She caught my eye in the mirror. "Well go on, spit it out."

I took a deep breath. "I'll try to make you happy."

She smiled. "_Fine_ and I'll try back. But you do know it's not always cake and roses."

I nodded remembering the muttered arguments of my parents while I was locked under the stairs in a cupboard. "I'm an adult."

"You know, I was thinking I'll go freshen up. Unless you want to use the bathroom first." She grinned at me.

"No, that's fine."

She turned to my dresser and opened the middle drawer where I kept my night things. "Now… ah, yes." She withdrew a pair of blue pyjamas (and I knew they were the button-up ones) and dropped them into the bin, dusting her hands. "Guess you'll need something else to wear."

"Ahm…" I saw a twinkle in her eye. "I'll go down and check the back door."

"You can come up in a little while," she said to my back as I descended. "Say ten minutes? And perhaps you can switch off your mobile."

I heard her unlatch her suitcase and pull out clothing. "Ahm… right." I was trying to keep my wits about me as I went downstairs.

My watch read 10:21 and I listened as the mantle clock in surgery clicked the quarter hour, telling me it was running six minutes slow. I'll have to adjust the regulator, I thought.

There were footsteps above my head and I knew she was in the bedroom and then down the hall to the bath. Water ran, a toothbrush was used, liquid was gargled and expectorated, and the toilet flushed. More water was run filling the sink and I thought I heard her humming a little tune. She did not sound unhappy – merely busy.

I next went to the kitchen in a fog painfully aware that _she_ was upstairs and I was no longer _alone_. The back door was latched as well as the front. I wiped a muddy paw print off the lino and folded the blanket I'd draped over her as she napped. I straightened the magazines in the reception, and carried the office bin to the back door for disposal tomorrow. The dishes glared at me from the drying rack so I put those away.

The taps upstairs stopped running and then the drain gurgled. Her feet went down the hall to the bedroom and I heard her brush hair again.

I switched off the lights and sat on the sofa watching the seconds crawl by on my Rolex.

"Martin?" she called down. "Coming up?" I heard the bedsprings creak as she settled herself on it.

My watch read 10:34. It had taken her thirteen minutes. "Yes," I called out as I climbed the creaky stairs.

A quick look in the bedroom showed her lying on the left side of the bed as I faced it.

She smiled encouragingly where she lay on her left side. "Okay if I use this side?" Her distended belly and breasts pillowed the duvet. "Or… I could move?"

Her dark hair was splayed out on the pillow in the light of the bedside lamp and my breath caught as my heart sped up. She was wearing the nightdress from her cottage – the one from Truro, and from what I could see it suited her. "Fine," was all I could say next. I rummaged in the dresser and took out cotton boxers and undershirt. "Seems you've taken my pyjamas."

She chuckled. "I'm sure you can manage."

I fled to the bathroom and undressed hurriedly and washed my face, chest, and armpits, then dressed in the pants and shirt. I sneered at myself in the mirror, but pressed on brushing teeth and running my electric razor quickly over my face. "Marginally better," I muttered, hoping I would not disappoint her.

The light was off when I went back to her. She was snoring softly as she laid there, a small bundle of fragile humanity and my heart nearly broke knowing she was back and I had the awful power to destroy this beautiful creature with a wrong word, harsh look, or brusque action. I had done so too many times – too many times – but perhaps this was my _last_ chance.

I put my mobile on the dresser and hung up my suit then on second thought switched the phone off. The bed creaked as I climbed in and she started.

"Oh, _hi_," she said. "Tired," she murmured but her arms went around me, her breath soft in my ear.

"Louisa…" I started to say. "Is this… what you… want?"

I knew what I wanted for I wanted her body and soul and now my pulse was really racing, the scent of her hair in my nostrils, but I should not force her. I should be strong and aloof; supportive and not demanding. Clap my armor back on – be the observer – don't get involved. I scooted marginally away from her.

A slim hand ran moved up and touched my neck. "No, no, Martin. Be with me. Please?" She kissed my cheek and my lips and she didn't stop. She was warm, soft, her skin smooth and desirable, and she guided my hand to her neck, face, chest, belly, and back.

When she held my hand to her abdomen I tried to hold back, but she said, "It's fine, Martin. Really." Then she held my hand on a breast while she sighed. I could not help but notice that the mammary was large and was growing engorged under my hand, the nipple getting firm and warmer.

Her hand went into my pants and I gasped as she rubbed me. "Louisa…" I grunted. "I…"

"Martin," she gasped. "Too _bloody_ much time."

"This what you want to do? If we're a couple?"

By way of answer, she sat up, pulled her nightgown off over her head and then lay back down and hugged me tightly, clasping me to her with arms and a leg. She was all warm skin, breasts, belly, nipples, back, legs, soft lips, and tender flesh.

After some time she pulled my shirt and pants off and I felt her tremble in time to my ministrations. Biology and desire drove us together though it was difficult with her distended abdomen, but finally after uncomfortable efforts, she straddled me after pushing me onto my back.

"Martin," she groaned softly, "I need you," and kissing my face and nose, rode the waves of pleasure that pummeled both of us while I wondered at the Creator that had made us such that this _rhapsody_ was possible.


	39. Chapter 39

Restores

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

The next morning Martin opened the front door and admitted a limping Bert, whose eyes bugged out but his face broke into a huge smile when he saw me. "Louisa," he said. "You're here?"

I had just finished eating (a soft-boiled egg, brown toast, part of a melon and orange juice) and was dabbing my mouth as I ran to the stairs. "Gosh!" I recalled Martin telling Bert to come at 8:30. My watch showed it only 8:20, but I was still running late. "Damn," came from mouth. I had set the alarm, which did go off, but, what with one thing and another, I was late.

"Problem?" said Martin. "Go through, Bert." He stood in reception pointing to his open office door.

Bert turned his head from Martin to me, back to Martin and then back to me. "Won't you be late for school?" he asked me.

"Yeah," I sprang up on the first step, at least as much as a thirty-two week pregnant person could. "Running late today."

Bert rolled his eyes. "Always nice to see you Louisa, but I thought," he coughed, "you were at old man Routledge's?"

"Bert!" shouted Martin. "Go into my surgery!"

"No need to shout, Doc! It's my toe, not my ears!" the ex-plumber chuckled.

"Not so sure of that," Martin muttered.

"Martin!" I admonished him. "No need to be harsh."

"Now that you mention it, my ears have been a bit iffy." He stuck a thick finger in his ear and examined it critically. "There," he held the finger towards Martin. "Look."

Martin sighed, shook his head and I almost see steam coming from his ears. "Bert," he grunted. "If your toe is so painful?"

Bert started to move forward. "Right. So Louisa… you popped by for… breakfast?"

I had made it halfway up the stairs, but stopped and looked at Martin. "Not exactly."

"You're not staying at your house?" Bert asked me.

"Bert!" yelled Martin. "In - my - surgery - _now_!"

I reversed course and went to ground. "I'm… I've…"

"Does your toe still hurt?" interjected Martin.

Bert nodded. "Like fire!"

Martin's face turned red. "Then WHY won't you let me EXAMINE IT?"

"Martin," I told him through gritted teeth. "There's no need…"

Martin exploded. "AND, since you are SO interested in mine and Louisa's living arrangements, _she_ has moved _back_! _There_! I've short cut any number of _inane_ gab-fests! Now! SURGERY!" His finger stabbed the air for emphasis.

Bert sheepishly followed Martin's directions. "Okay, Doc." He turned his heavy face toward me though. "Welcome home, Louisa, I suppose I should say that."

I smiled. "Thanks, Bert. I'm _glad_ to be _back_."

Martin's eye twitched. "Now," grunted Martin, checking his watch, "Your toe?"

Bert laughed. "Just seeing your smiling face back in this here cottage fixes an awful lot, seems to me. Okay, Doctor Ellingham, let's look at this old toe of mine, shall we? So far the only thing that's helped is a five pound block of ice and the sight of your lovely smile, Miss Glasson."

I stepped in quickly. "I _am_ glad to be back. Now I'd better get off to school, for I am quite late." I stepped over to Martin, took his arm and looked up at his concerned face. "Have a nice day, Martin."

He looked down at me and the faintest of smiles cracked the corners of his slash of a mouth. "Louisa… I…"

I smiled and kissed his cheek. "I know. Bye."

Bert Large chuckled. "Will wonders never cease. Cupid restores things in the end."

Martin stared at him. "Surgery."

Bert lumbered through the door. "Now, Doc, like I said, I stumbled and jammed this thing right into a stone step. Been killing me ever since."

Martin followed and the door closed.

I stood there stupidly staring at the scratched green door, disappointed. I put my fingers on the wood and rubbed it, and was just turning to go up and brush my teeth, and gargle, then waddle off to school when the door creaked.

Martin came out and closed the door on an astonished Bert.

"Martin?"

He looked down at me and actually smiled. "I… wanted to say, have a good day."

I took his large hand in mine. "Thanks Martin. You too."

"You're fine?"

"Of course."

He let go my hand and brushed my cheek with his lips. "Louisa… about last night…"

"I love you Martin."

He nodded and breathed deep. "I know. But… you are fine?"

I took his hand and pressed it to my belly. "We're fine. Back where we belong."

Martin started a teeny bit as the baby squirmed in his too small enclosure. "I… I… am so very glad you've returned… I… I was lost without you."

"What did Bert say? Restoration?" I tried to look encouragingly up at him.

"For a plumber, Bert Large seems to know a lot about people, doesn't he?"

I kissed him by way of answer. "Late for school."

"Let them wait, Louisa." He bent his neck and kissed me on the lips.


	40. Chapter 40

Revenge

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

Before I'd got even a quarter of the way into examining Bert Large's swollen, and obviously infected toe the door flew open and Pauline barged in. "Is it true?" she shouted.

"Pauline! I am with a patient!"

She peered at her wristwatch. "Your office hours start at 9 AM! It's not half eight!"

I sighed at the redhead. "I am the DOCTOR and I WILL examine a patient when and where I decide!"

"Hi Pauline," said Bert. "I got this bad toe…"

"Shush!" Pauline shouted at him. "So it's true?" she next shouted at me. "Miss Glasson's back - moved back in?"

"I seen her myself," said Bert. "Spent the night and had breakfast; am I _right_, Doc?"

"Uhm… Louisa, did come back… to the…" I stuttered. "Now… out Pauline! Go and act like you actually work here!" That shut her up for a moment. "Now, get OUT!"

With fire in her eye she whirled away and stood at the door. "But she _is_ back, then?" she asked quietly.

"Oh, yeah, she sure is!" chuckled Bert. "Or he wouldn't have been so nasty, now would you Doc?"

I fixed Bert with a cold stare, one born of desperation, for I did not wish to speak any further of my personal life or issues with any villagers. I suppose I was still in shock with her return and the unqualified way in which she slipped back into my life. Yet, for all the histrionics and spectacle of our relationship, and the horrible vacuum of her leaving and absence, this morning I could have been a withered plant receiving life-giving rain.

When I woke with Louisa next to me, her arm draped over my chest as she snored gently, I found I was quite upset - overcome really by it all - the sudden intimacy, the outpouring of words, and the rush of emotions. Just recalling that moment I had to look away from Bert, lest he see that the emotionless GP had human feelings.

Bert's face fell. "Doc, guess I kinda stuck my foot in it, didn't I? Didn't mean to. Just being…"

I did not hate Bert Large, merely finding him to be annoying. "Yourself," I blurted out. I bent my head, scrutinized his bright red inflamed toe and squeezed it gently.

He sucked in air like a Hoover. "Owwwww!"

"Sorry, Bert." I returned with an instrument tray, and prepared to lance the infected toe at the edge of the nail. "You have an infected nail bed. I can evacuate the space, which is filled with broken down cells and fluid - you would call it pus - treat you with an antibiotic cream and let you go."

The ex-plumber looked at me with tear filled eyes. "Just fix it."

"You'll also have to soak your foot twice a day in warm salt water and apply a new dressing with antibiotic cream."

He nodded. "Whatever you say, you're the doctor, Doc."

I sneered. "Can't you ever call me Doctor Ellingham?"

"Of course, Doctor Ellingham," he intoned seriously. "Just sounds… odd."

Louisa opened an eye that morning and looked up at me. "Doctor Ellingham," she sighed and then she hugged me. She pressed her face against mine. "Martin? Your face is wet! What's wrong?"

I grabbed her hand on the way up to my face. "I'm… fine."

"No! No, you're not!" She reared up, her breasts and belly pushing against me. "Have I done something wrong?"

I swiped a hand across my eyes. "No, no. I'm only…" my voice failed.

Louisa hugged me close. "Shhh, shhh," she murmured. "It's going to be okay."

Pauline started yelling after I heard the front door slam. "Hey! You can't go in there!"

The surgery door flew open as a prickly voice shouted out, "Just watch me!"

Edith Montgomery stood in the opening, her eyes just as angry as the fiery orange of her hair. "_Here_ you are!" she shouted. "Playing GP, I see!" She stomped over and peered at Bert's foot. "Oh! I see, now you are playing foot doctor! Satisfied Ellingham? Lowest of the low?"

"Get out, Edith!" I told her. "Now!"

Pauline suddenly was next to her. "Sorry. Doctor Ellingham; I told her to stay out!"

Edith sneered at Pauline and nudged her away. "You ruined my life, Ellingham! You ruined it twenty years ago and now you've done it again! Got me sacked!"

"No need to be nasty," said Bert.

"Shut the bloody hell up, you fool!" Edith shouted as she practically leaped across the room and glared down at me as I sat on my treatment stool.

I rose and looked down at her and bristled, trying to keep my voice level yet there was a steel edge to it, as different as possible from the soft tone I had used with Louisa that morning.

Louisa rubbed my neck. "You're okay, aren't you?"

I could barely nod, afraid to meet her eyes.

"Martin, just tell me what I've done wrong." Her hand turned my head and I had to face her.

Should I tell her what I was really feeling? That I was overwhelmed - absolutely shattered. Too many thoughts flooded my head. I felt sad, happy, depressed, happy, angry - all of it - and all at once.

"Louisa… I…" I said and a single tear leaked down my cheek.

"Oh, no, no, Martin. No, Martin, don't…" her voice faltered, "cry."

I could not speak. The rejection and torture visited on me by my horrid mum and dad, the bullies at school, the man on the street that called me a tosser, and the teenage girl-pack that teased me every chance they got in the village flew through my head. Louisa on the plane, the first time I saw her, telling me I had problems. The vomiting into a bin after seeing blood. Louisa walking up the street with Danny Steel. Louisa telling me she could not marry me and watching her walk away. Finding her in the smelly bed-sit. Every hurt, pain, or regret, rose up to crush the happiness I had felt when we made love the previous night for she was BACK.

I shook my head but she cradled me gently in her arms, against her warm body, making soothing noises, and then - then it happened - and everything changed.

I took a very deep breath and stuck a finger in Edith's face. "Get out! Get out of my surgery!"

She crossed her arms, pulled herself up to her not considerable height then turned on her heel. "You're not rid of me, Ellingham! I'm going to get even with you!" The firebrand stomped away just as Pauline came to the door. "Revenge will be mine!"

"Penhale's on his way, Doctor Ellingham," Pauline said.

Bert chuckled after the front door slammed and silence descended. "Well, well. Friend of yours, Doc?" he asked. "She doesn't seem very friendly though." He sniffed. "And she smells like booze."

I had taken Louisa's hands in mine. "Louisa…" I managed to get out.

"What, Martin? What are you trying to say?" Her beautiful eyes peered into mine.

Louisa once said that she had envied Mark Mylow, for Mylow had 'gone for it' with Julie Mitchell. Was I man enough to do the same? There was a crack in the armor that had shielded my inner self for ever so long, and against all judgment and self-discipline, I forced the words through that fissure.


	41. Chapter 41

**R x Three**

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

Reading, writing and arithmetic (the three Rs) were the basics that Portwenn Primary taught, along with PE, art, music, and history. One other very important aspect of education was to 'get along,' teaching the kids to cooperate and to be polite, as without some civility we'd descend into chaos. That doesn't fit into the 'three R' moniker, but as I hustled into the school, running late, I heard screeching coming from down the hall and it was inside my office!

"What's going on?" I asked as I pushed the door open, and there sat the school secretary Stacey Chatsworth behind my desk, weeping her eyes out while being confronted by an angry Susan Kerrigan, my history teacher.

Stacy turned her stricken face to mine. "Louisa! I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't mean to…" she stopped and blew her nose.

Susan shook her head at her. "Stacy, I'm sorry, but you had no right to drink my apple juice! I clearly put my name on the bottle in the staff fridge! How would you feel if I took your lunch!"

"That's enough Susan," I said firmly. "Now what's all this about?"

Susan shook her head. "Stacy's been at my apple juice, again!" she almost yelled. "Buy your own, can't you?"

"Susan!" I tapped her elbow. "Enough said."

Stacy wiped her eyes. "I'll buy you another, okay?"

Susan rolled her eyes. "_Fine_." She turned and dashed out.

I sighed as I did not like either conflict or having to be the peacemaker. "Stacy?"

My secretary stood and bared the upper part of her chest. "Look what I did!" There was a tiger tattooed over her heart across the upper part of her breast.

"Lord, what…" I stopped myself, as getting a tattoo - not something I'd engage in myself - was not for me to judge.

"Got it in Spain on holiday!" she peered down abashedly. "Wasn't I stupid?" she broke into tears once more.

I rubbed her shoulder and gave her another tissue which she used noisily, blowing her nose. "Susan's juice?"

"Been feeling poorly, guess you've noticed. And I was just so thirsty… there it was… so I took it." She blew her nose again. "Guess that's torn it with Susan. She was stitching me up, and rightly so, when you came in."

Her shoulder felt hot under my hand and I pulled back slightly not wanting to catch anything if she was sick. "If you're unwell, go see Martin." I took a step back and taking an antiseptic wipe from the container on my bookshelf wiped my hands with it.

Stacy shook her head. "Oh, I tried the other day, but I was embarrassed, and… you know how Doc Martin can be."

"I'm sure he will see you. Think you might have an infection? Your skin looks awfully red to me?"

"I been scratching at it, Louisa. Don't know what got into me." She looked down and buttoned her blouse higher over the inked beast. "I guess I thought getting this _thing_ might make me feel more - well you know."

"Stacy! Call the surgery straight away - get an appointment."

She nodded and wiped at her reddened face. "I'll do that." She smiled up at me. "I hear you and Doctor Ellingham are… back together."

I sighed. "News travels fast in the village."

"Speed of thought, Louisa, along with the help of mobiles, back gardens, and the market." She sniffed. "True though?"

I closed my eyes briefly. "Yes. I… er… we… I did go back last night."

She hugged me. "So glad for you. My sister got pregnant from a really nice man, who, it turned out, was engaged to someone else. Needless to say, she ended up raising my niece by herself and I suppose he wasn't as nice as he appeared."

"Definitely not."

She grinned, "But back to you and the Doc?"

"It's complicated," I said.

"Louisa, it always is. Why do you think I got this bloody tattoo?"

"So, love drove you to get a tiger inked into your skin?"

"Not really," she said as she looked hard at my pregnant belly. "Relationships make us do some funny things."

"Right." I put a hand to it and rubbed it. "I suppose they do."

"So… how's the Doc? I bet he's happy you've gone back to him? And are you happy too?"

"Gosh, Stacy, hadn't we both get back to work?" I told her, avoiding the question.

Yes we did make love last night and this morning, one of the reasons I was late to work. To be honest I was the one who initiated our _relations_ while Martin protested of his concerns for my health. Healthy or not, I knew what I wanted - and it was Martin - all of him.

She rose from my chair. "I only ran in here when Susan was badgering me. I'll go make amends right away; that okay?"

"Fine. Good idea to keep - uhm - _things_ on an even keel. And you _will_ see Martin?"

She nodded. "I'll call the surgery right away."

Stacy left and I gratefully sank into my chair as my back was aching, but I was smiling recalling just how much I wanted to be with Martin, and how satisfied I was that I'd not let him put me off. The books were right; my hormones _were_ revved up; and I hope I had not scared him too badly. After all, there might even be a repeat performance later.

I tried to immerse myself in the morning details - attendance, checking my voice mail, asking why Dil Bateman was out for a fourth day in a row, and so forth. The menu for next week was too similar of this week, and I'd have to inquire about that one, as I knew the kids should not have fish fingers, couscous, and custard on both Friday and the following Monday.

Yet intruding through the minutia of the school, and my paying job, where two thoughts: fixated memories playing through my head of a sexual nature, for I had missed Martin terribly, and the frank confession that he'd given me not an hour before.

He lay next to me, almost under me as I held him close as a slow leak of tears crawled down his cheeks. They were tears, actual tears.

"Martin, tell me, what is wrong? Did I upset you, hurt you?" I asked tenderly.

He sniffled and wiped his face on my bare shoulder. "Louisa…" he started.

"You can tell me anything."

He stared up at me for long seconds. "I… have I hurt you? You're fine? The, uhm… baby?"

I stroked his face and chest. "We're fine, Martin. I told you I wasn't made of glass."

He wrinkled his nose. "You were… energetic."

"Never made to love a pregnant woman, have you," I shifted my leg from his, "at least not one _this_ pregnant?"

He looked away. "I'd no idea that…"

"What?" I patted his face playfully. "That I'd want a man - you specifically?"

"Uhm… no." A last tear rolled down his cheek. "I had no notion... that…" he kissed my neck.

I laughed. "So why are you crying? And you can't blame it on hay fever."

He cleared his throat. "I… thought…"

I'm sure you thought many things, Martin, just spit it out, I thought. 'Go on."

He sighed and hugged me closely. "I had idea… that…" he pulled his face away from mine and looked deep into my eyes. "That…" he shuddered sadly, "anyone… would…"

"Would what?"

"Could…" he said. "That anyone… could… _care_ for me."

That made me sniffle too. "Oh, Martin, you _poor_ man." Then I got weepy. "Poor man. Of course; of course I care for you!"

And after more kissing, hugging, and caresses, I turned off his alarm clock and taught him three other Rs – romance, eroticism, and ardor, thusly making me late for school.


	42. Chapter 42

Report

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

Police Constable Joseph Penhale looked very keen as he sat with before me his pencil in hand poised over his report pad. "And Doctor Ellingham," he said, grinning madly, "did the perp display a weapon of any kind?"

"No," I told him.

"Just made threats of bodily harm?"

"She said she would get revenge, Penhale."

"No guns, knives, bombs, weapons of mass destruction?" he asked.

"The Doc told you the woman was _Bodmin_, Joe! Full of fire, but there was nuthin' physical!" Bert Large chimed in.

Joe turned his half-mad smile at the plumber. "Mr. Large, I'll take your statement in a few minutes."

I stood up and brushed away the constable. "Nothing happened."

"Like the Doc says, Penhale, nothing happened, just words - _angry_ words too," Pauline laughed.

Joe lowered his pencil. "Oh," he said sadly. "Shame, I been hoping for a real crime in the village. Petty theft doesn't stack up to murderous threats or kidnapping, does it? Almost like I'm wasting my time."

I sneered at the half-mad policeman. "I have patients to see, Joe, if you can see your way to leave me be."

"You called though," he said.

"I did that," Pauline said. "Thought she… might, uhm, be violent, or sumthin."

Bert chuckled. "I really thought she was madder than a wet hen." His fists clenched. "Fit to bust, ya know? Good thing we was here Doc, cuz who knows what might have happened?"

I looked at my watch. "That's it - show's over."

"But…" Joe stood, "if she comes back… call me?"

"Yeah," I said. "Out." I pointed.

"Thank God that Louisa wasn't here," Pauline laughed.

"Miss Glasson was in the house?" Joe asked. "Well, that's sumthin."

Bert took Penhale by the elbow. "Not now, Joe. He's _not_ in the mood."

They all left the office and I blew out a shaky breath, wiping sweat off my forehead with a tissue. Edith, Edith _bloody_ Montgomery! I had ruined _her_ life?

The departure lounge at Heathrow from long ago swam into my memory. I was upset; trying to keep my wits about me, which was difficult while Edith chattered on about her assignment at Toronto Women's and Children Hospital – how she would be wowing them with her amazing skills.

I sat next to her in a miserable funk. I had assumed that Edith had indeed accepted my proposal of marriage, but looking back, she had not actually accepted having merely smiled briefly, touched my face and said, _'we'll see.' _Now I saw what she really had meant, for it had eventually dawned on my infatuated brain that she had her own plan – and I was _not_ in that plan.

It had come to a head when her airline ticket had arrived by post (this was so long ago that the Internet was a pipe dream and the thought of actually buying anything from it was a fevered fantasy). I brought the mail into the flat and found her name on the thick envelope, over the words _Care Of_ and my flat address.

When I saw her that morning I gravely handed her the packet. "What's this?" I asked her, knowing that it must contain some sort of travel arrangements, with the British Airways logo firmly splashed across it.

"Oh, great, Ellingham! I had hoped they might show up soon!" She ripped the envelope open and the telltale plane ticket lay in her hands under the fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor.

"Tickets?"

"Yeas, I wanted to speak to you about these." She waved them in my face. "Know what these are?"

"Airline tickets, obviously."

"No, Ellingham! No! This is my chance to fly! Get off this teeny island and spread my wings!"

I not heard anyone call the mass of England, Wales, Scotland, Devon and Cornwall _teeny_ before. It then struck like a thunderbolt. "You're leaving?"

"Yes, yes, I am," she said. "Toronto. That's in Canada."

"Edith, I know where Toronto is!"

She smirked. "Good! For a moment there, I thought you might be terminally geographically challenged!" her eyes flicked away. "Or having a TIA."

"Edith, my appointment is at St. Swithin's - _here_ - in London!"

"And good for you, Ellingham." She sighed. "I did try to warn you that I had big plans." She laughed. "Good God, Ellingham; it's not like I didn't give you warning!"

My heart fell as I had thought she meant big plans – _for our wedding_! Suddenly I felt like I was being punished for something I had not done. I rapidly thought what I might do or say.

"I'll be there for five years, Ellingham. You can visit, if you like, but I am quite certain I shall be very busy."

"Ahm…" I said and the rest of the registrars came out into the hall and further discussion of our domestic arrangements, or lack of, become impossible. "So why did you have them sent to my flat?" I hissed.

"Oh," she whispered. "Thought I might move in with you for the last few weeks. Saves me a packet on rent."

Sitting at Heathrow, while she waiting for her flight, I reflected on that moment and the telling of the dynamic between us. Edith had treated me rather like a slightly off acquaintance, not like an equal, or even a suitor for some time. I realized that she had used me in a number of ways – just as I had used her. Our relationship was doomed to fail I knew then, although some who saw us together called us 'The Dynamic Duo' behind our backs. It was Chris Parsons who had reported that to me that very night.

Chris had managed to corral me into meeting him at a restaurant, where he wolfed down a steak pie, while I ate a small salad and drank water. "Mart, did you think Edith would stick with your _forever_?"

I sighed. "Perhaps not, but I had _hoped_…" my voice failed just then as Diane Burroughs breezed in and plunked herself down next to Chris, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Chris and Martin," she said, "what you two being so serious about?"

Diane was Chris's girlfriend of the last year. She was a research biochemist student at a research institute, studying diseases of the heart, and that about summed up the extent of my knowledge of the woman. I sneered at her. "None of your business."

Chris gave her a quick look. "Diane, we'll talk _later_."

"I don't want my personal business blathered about on the wards!" I shouted, rose, and blundered form the place.

So at the airport I could only sit in dumb silence while Edith chattered on, her green eyes flashing with excitement. Her hand was inches from mine but it might as well have been across the sea. It was only years later that new security regs prevented everyone from going to departure gates - with or without a ticket.

"You're still angry," she said, when they announced boarding had begun.

I stood up. "Goodbye, Edith."

"Won't you at least give me a hug?" She popped up with her eyes wide. "Least you could do."

Eerily, it was the same thing I had said to her last night while she bustled about my flat, stuffing clothing and toiletries into her two suitcases. She _had_ given up her flat and moved in with me, although it might as well have been a cold hostel for all the warmth she had shown me the last month.

She had given me the brush-off at first then put her arms around me. "Don't get any funny ideas, Ellingham. The flight is early tomorrow and I shall need my rest. No hanky-panky."

I pressed her to me in desperation, but she peeled my arms away and kissed me once. "There, that wasn't so bad was it? It's been fun, Ellingham."

At Heathrow, I was not about to afford her even that much comfort for what we had once had – or so I thought we had. So I turned and looked down at her diminutive form, dressed in a dark conservative skirt, blouse, and coat, but with the most awful rhinestone studded footwear; her one vice she claimed.

"Come on Ellingham," she said soothingly, but with some guile. "It has been fun, right?"

I was prone to keep my feelings bottled up and her rejection only served to push my true feelings even deeper into myself. Other passengers stood about with their carry on bags, peering at us curiously.

"Ellingham?" she repeated taking a step towards me. "For old time's sake?"

"No," came from my mouth. "Goodbye, Edith." I whirled and stomped away.

The present returned and I was in my surgery at Portwenn, in the back of beyond, with a pregnant partner, if that's what Louisa and I really were, partners, having just been verbally assaulted by the one woman I never wished to see ever again. That is what I wished I could have told Penhale, but that type of report I was not prepared to make.

**Notes:**

**TIA – transient ischemic attack – a partial and temporary stroke of the brain due to a spasm of cerebral blood vessels.**


	43. Chapter 43

Recounting

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

With heart in my mouth I went into the kitchen and Martin was filleting a fish. "Oh Martin, I thought we might eat out tonight."

He turned the knife waving it generally in my direction. "I thought you may be tired, so… eat in? We don't have to if you wish otherwise." He looked down at the sharp instrument and slowly set it on the cutting board. "The fish… uhm, sorry."

He also had potatoes on the boil and broccoli steaming as I could smell them. "You don't have to cook, I can help."

"No, no. Sit and put your feet up," he said, then practically carried me to the sofa and sat me down, plumping a pillow behind my head and levering my legs onto the cushions. "Water?"

"That would be nice; thanks," I said but as he went for a glass of water I wanted to ask about his day, but at the same time, wanting him to volunteer something. I bided my time and it took until dinner was nearly done for _me_ to broach the subject.

"How was your day?" I asked as he poured coffee for himself and more water for me.

"Ahm, fine." He waved a spoon about having just stirred the coffee. "Patients."

"Right. Many?"

"Uhm, the usual." That seemed to have exhausted his fount of daily experience. "You? You got home a little later than I had expected."

"Yeah, I had a long chat with two of my teachers about books for next year, and a longer one with my secretary. Did Sally call for an appointment?"

His eyes grew guarded. "I… I really should not be discussing… uhm, patients, with you."

"Oh, right… but if it would happen that one of my staff did make an appointment, I would appreciate…"

He nodded. "I _may_ be seeing them first thing, tomorrow."

"That's good. And I'm not asking for any details, just that in _this_ case, I think she needs some material help and I hope you're up on your dermatology."

He sneered. "A festering sunburn? Figures." He stood and cleared the plates away. "There's fresh fruit – an orange or an apple?"

"Not quite a sunburn." How to describe a tattoo? "An orange. Martin?"

He handed me a small plate with an orange on it, and he swiftly made an incision around the top. "Makes them easier to peel."

I laughed. "Not used to being waited on."

His head bobbed. "Merely trying to help." Then his gray eyes peered at me.

"Thanks." I said, "Now about your day… _anything_ else?"

He shifted nervously for a few seconds. "No. Ordinary day."

I would have to pry it from him. "Okay," I sighed, and even the baby was unmoving from the suspense. "Nothing?" I knew very well that something had happened.

He fingered his collar, where the tie held it tightly around his neck. "I suppose, you may have… heard… that… I… had a… _visitor_." His eyes were fairly starting from his head as he said it.

"Yeah," my lip went between my teeth. "I did hear… _something… _about_ someone_."

He sighed.

"Come on Martin, I'm trying to find out what happened this morning – around 8:30?"

"Oh _God_," he said softly. "Louisa, I had no idea that woman would come to surgery."

I rolled my eyes. "Let's get something straight. I thing that you ought to tell me - _everything_. Not about patients, athlete's feet, or who's into S none of that!" My hand shot out and touched his across the table. "You have to… let me in. Inside."

"_Inside_?"

"That big old handsome head of yours, Martin." I smiled at him. "You can do it."

Another long pause came from the father of my baby. "Yeah. Okay. I uhm… Edith… Montgomery pushed in."

"And I hear she was – not happy?"

"Uhm, yes, no, uhm, _upset_, you might say."

"With the level of care you were giving or was it something else?"

"God," he muttered. "This is… too…"

"Awkward? Embarrassing? Distressing? Humiliating? Difficult? Trust me Martin I spent a good half hour searching for the right words until I came home from school. _If_ this is _home_," I said.

"Louisa, this is your… home, if you wish it and I wish it to be so. And I would never do anything to hurt you."

"Fine, Martin that is _fine_. All well and good. So good to hear that. Now… _tell_ _me_ about Dr. Edith barking bodmin Montgomery."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "She came in while I was with a patient."

"Bert Large."

"Accused me of getting her sacked."

"Because she was drunk, I hear. According to the custodian, who heard it from Jim Davey, who talked to the baker, who got it from Tina Evans, who heard it from Bert…"

"She did smell of alcohol."

"Heard that too."

His eyes closed. "She claimed that I had ruined her life years ago and that I had done it once more and she would get even."

"So…" his hand had grown sweaty in mine. "And just how did you ruin her life, Martin?"

He squirmed. "What is this going to solve?"

I smiled and patted his hand. "It's part of being human, Martin. Talking, telling what happened, making remarks about what might have been, and even describing our mistakes."

"Rather like a post-mortem."

"If you like. But in this case the body is walking and talking."

"Let me think about it."

"Fine." I took my hand from his. "How about in five minutes after I use the toilet?"

I gave him ten minutes and he was washing up when I went back to the kitchen. "I thought you'd talk to me now."

He pulled the stopper and the water glug-glugged down the drain. He slowly dried his hands on a tea towel, took off his apron and hung both towel and apron on a hook to dry. Martin slowly turned to face me and his eyes looked haunted.

"It's that bad?" I asked.

"Yeah."

I winced. "God."

He gulped. "Here goes. Louisa, I was in medical school and met Edith Montgomery. She was of high intellect, nearly equal to my own, was proficient in her studies, in lectures, on exams, and in the operating theater."

"I've seen how _she_ operates," I said with certainty. "But go on."

He sat back down at the table nearly dropping into his chair. "She was a study partner. We shared a cadaver in anatomy lab."

"Sounds _very_ romantic."

His mouth gaped like a fish's. "Yeah. She... and I… we became… a couple – not just in studies – and I thought that…"

"She loved you but quite enough? I've pretty much figured this out, based on what you told me when she found us in the hotel lobby in London."

"Oh. Yes." He looked weary. "And now she…"

"But why _now_, Martin? Did something else happen?"

"NO."

"Hmm, don't like the sound of that." I shook my head. "My dad Terry was a _very good_ liar, Martin, but I have learned how to tell when people aren't _quite_ telling the whole story."

He rose to leave but stopped. "Yes, she did come here. Offered… uhm... wanted… to… uhm…" he stopped. "Louisa, I had _no idea_ but I can only guess that when she saw us in London, she decided, that she… uhm…" now he was sweating. "Wanted to…" he waved his arms. "Find me."

"Should I be worried about this?"

"No. _Absolutely_ not! There is _nothing_ between us. Not for a very long time. When she went to Canada – that was it, a write off; total and utter! And…" he came around the table and knelt down by me, with a hand on my shoulder. "When she came here a few weeks back, I told her as much."

"Then why is the woman bugging you? Is she a stalker? That it? Been hiding in the bushes or in the pantry?"

"Louisa, I uhm… may have made a poor, uhm.. decision... on a course of action at that time."

I gave him a cock-eyed look. "And what was that?"

He looked like a little boy with his hand caught in the candy jar. "She passed out, right here, in the kitchen."

"Passed out? From what?"

He wrinkled his nose. "She had been drinking. Pauline was away and knowing that it would look very… _odd_… to have her out cold on the floor, I picked her up, tucked her back into her car, which was parked just outside and called Penhale."

Then the light dawned. "And Penhale arrested her for public intoxication."

He nodded. "I suppose… that may be... right."

"And then she got sacked."

"Apparently." Martin's face was strained, nearly as bad as when he sliced open Peter Cronk to save his live. "And she holds me responsible."

I touched his face. "Fine. But you're _not_ responsible! If she has a problem, that's on her head, not yours."

He sighed. "I hope that _is_ true."

I smiled at him but the worry lines stayed on his face.


	44. Chapter 44

Rotten

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

Now that the truth had come out, I seemed to be more _relaxed_, less _up-tight_, more _free_ in the way I acted around her. We spoke no more of Edith, and that was fine for there were other matters that were festering.

For one thing Mrs. Tishell seemed to be finding more and more articles in MHRA which she attempted to force under my nose. Yes I did read the material, but on my own, not a dog-eared copy coated with the sticky remains of jammy dodgers that she thrust in my face every time I got within ten meters of the chemist.

Louisa seemed to be coping, in our new arrangement, that is she and I were… ahem, more than coping based on the frequent night time… _activities_. It was fortune that we lived in housing that did not share a house wall with another dwelling or the, how to say it, late night noises, might have generated a complaint and then Penhale would have come around. Dealing with PC Penhale was usually difficult enough but trying to explain the noises that we made - it was all far too frightening - totally bodmin. I tried not to use the local lingo but the theoretical condition caused by wandering on Bodmin Moor seemed to fit in this case.

Auntie Joan came in for a checkup, as she complained of feeling breathless at times.

"What were you doing?" I asked her.

"I found that living on a farm, Martin, there are any number of things that one must do daily. If I told you exactly what I was doing when I have felt out of breath, I'd have to keep a written diary of every blessed minute!"

"Oh, come on! Stop that!" She sighed and I saw how her cheeks took on a flushed look. "Have you noticed any change in your complexion?"

She looked away. "I'm an _old_ woman, Marty! Of course I have noticed changes." She wagged her head. "Silly boy."

I rubbed my fingers down one of her cheeks and then the other. "Could be windburn."

"Or sun, been outside a lot lately."

Her blood pressure was normal as well as her pulse. "I recommend sun block. Mrs. Tishell will have some anti-UV creams that you can use."

Her pale eyes looked at me sheepishly. "I don't suppose you have any I might have? Seem to be a bit short lately, in the cash department."

"Uhm, I'll see." I found a small tube in the supply cabinet which I handed her. "The money…"

"Just a momentary shortfall, is all." She dropped the tube into her vest pocket. "Anything else?"

I started to update her chart. "I should book you into the clinic for a stress test. They will have you walk on a treadmill…"

"Marty! Am I fit or not?"

I put down my pen. "Yes, you seem to be."

"Fine then," she said. "I'll be off then."

"Auntie Joan, I really think…"

She'd made it to the door. "And how are things with you and Louisa? I trust you haven't driven her off yet, once again?"

"No need to be nasty." I sighed. "I know that things have not exactly, proper around here - between her and me."

"Well, you seem to be good at doing two things. Getting the poor girl pregnant and driving her away!" Her mouth quivered. "I shouldn't have said that. Sorry, Marty." She wiped her hands on her fishing vest then rubbed them together. "I seem to be a bit off lately and that's not your fault."

I sighed at her. "You're right. I _did_ get her pregnant, and yes I did, uhm, I have, in the past, driven her away, but she came back and we're… uhm…"

She smiled at me. "Getting on, are you? Your Uncle Phil used to be quite the tiger, when we were young." Joan opened the door. "Don't waste time, Marty. Neither of you will ever get any younger."

"I know," I said to the closed door which she had closed quickly behind her. I penned the notes and carried them to Pauline.

"You okay, Doc?" my oddly-dressed receptionist asked me. "Joan Norton seemed a bit down."

"She's fine."

"You're the doctor, Doc."

"Yes, I am." I went back to my desk, and much later recalled that moment and felt rotten about it.


	45. Chapter 45

Raw

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

Sally Chadwick, my secretary, perched on the edge of my desk and showed me the raw pink skin where the tiger tattoo had been removed by Martin. "He says it will heal in time; just have to stay out of the sun this season. You were right. I was running an infection because of my digging at it."

I nodded. "I knew he could sort it." I fidgeted a bit as the baby was kicking me and I was getting quite tired of it. She had started last night and I got little rest, tossing and turning. I had even woken up Martin and he had grumbled at me over the breakfast table. That did not put me in a good mood, since I was also so damn tired.

Sally smiled down at me, as I squirmed. "And how are things going?"

"Fine, fine, just another month and half until this little one pops out. And let me tell you I can't wait."

She chuckled. "Pops out isn't quite the process, but I'm sure the Doc has explained that. When I had my girls, the first one took a full day in labor and the second one over ten hours. I told my hubby that was it for me! And my stretch marks were horrible, not to mention all the nausea, and then the sore baps nursing the wee ones. My god those little gums can tear at you."

"Right. All part of being mammals, isn't it?"

She chuckled. "That sounds like something he would say."

"Yeah. Now… if you don't mind I really need to use the loo and talk to Tasha about Harbour Day. I suppose she wants to do some sorta dance thing with the older kids."

Sally stood up. "Tasha does love to consider herself an '_artiste_' doesn't she?"

"She used to dance at university, apparently, and she does give dance lessons Saturday afternoons." I rose with as much dignity as possible with my great lump dragging me forward. Lately I had really felt a lot of back strain and even hip pain, which martin told me was perfectly normal, although he did want to call my OB, the new one, about it. I had to be quite forceful reminding him that he was not my doctor, as much as he wished he might be, and since we were keeping house, it might not be exactly proper. "Now, if you don't mind, I really can't wait."

Sally got out of the way and I went to the toilet down the hall. Mr. Coley, the school custodian, went past pushing a dust mop across the lino. I didn't see any dirt being moved, but perhaps he was doing something. The custodian had been here for years, and things did get done sort of, but he was very good at washing windows and drinking tea. "Morning, Mr. Coley."

The old fellow wore his usual trainers, droopy drawer trousers, as he used to be quite heavy, a worn plaid shirt and clashing flowered tie, plus the traditional gray coat of a maintenance man. There must be a rule that the coat must be worn, and that one never shaved.

"Hm? Oh, Miss Glasson. Morning," he replied distractedly scratching at his three day whiskers "Those kids! Tracking in dirt and dust! Do you know one of those little buggers put a baby octopus in my wash water bucket the other day?"

A couple kids walked past just then. "_Language_, Mr. Coley? Please."

"My missus been on me about it too." His eyes fell. "Just sort of upsetting, you know. Poor little thing."

I shook my head. "Just _who_ are we talking about?"

"Why the octopus! Never got a chance to steal crabs outa traps, hide under rocks, get all wily and smart! You do know they say them can be as smart as cats, dontcha?"

"I suppose I heard that." I had no idea what this had to do with anything.

"On the telly David Attenborough was going on about them last week. Amazing creatures. If them critters had _bones_ and _lungs_ and could _walk_ on dry land, I betcha they'd keep a firm hand on them mice that keep trying to get into my school building! That cat I got, he don't do much at all!"

"I thought I asked you to set out more traps?" I said. "The Board of Governors would not like to know we have mice!" I hissed.

"Traps? You mean those gluey-icky-sticky things? Naw, I use spring traps. SNAP!" he shouted, clapped his hands together and I jumped. "You okay?"

I rubbed my temples at the sudden headache. "Yeah. Well," I started to say, knowing I had lost the argument somewhere, "I'll leave you to it."

"Right." He looked me up and down. "But you know another thing? Them kids, they drop rocks and twigs on my traps and set them off!" He wrinkled his nose. "I don't know why we put up with that!" he sniffed. "After all…"

"_Yes_, Mr. Coley!" I nearly shouted. "I _will_ have the teachers speak to the _students_," I stressed the word, "not the _kids, _to leave your traps well alone! That okay?"

"Sure, sure." He stood up a bit straighter. "Sorry, Miss Glasson, I know I get all focused on one thing like, and I sorta get all wrapped up in it, ya know?"

I nodded. "It's fine, really. You just get on to the floor."

He looked at me strangely. "Floor? Floor? What's with the floor?"

"Uhm, you were cleaning it?"

His eyes darted to the dust mop he was holding. "Oh, yeah. Well then I'd better finish!" he looked at his watch held on by a worn band, "Nearly time for my tea. Cheers." He bent to the mop and I shook my head watching him go.

"Poor dear," I was muttering when Susan Kerrigan stuck her head out of her room. 'Miss Glasson? A moment?"

I entered cautiously hoping this was not more on the apple juice saga. "Yes?" Her class had their heads down over a test. "Everything okay?"

She looked at me with tear-softened eyes. "I am sorry," she whispered, "about the blowup with Sally. I'll make it up to her."

I took her by the elbow and turned her towards the corner. "Sally said the same to me – about you."

Susan relaxed. "Yeah, well. My nerves have been raw is all. My fella's trying to get off relief fulltime, and he might have a job out Camelford way. He's been working part time, under the table at the Golf Club, mowing grass, but as he says that's not very much. Says it bores him to tears."

"I see."

"Under stress. Too much, and my sister wants to come visit over summer break and that will be strain, as she's so bossy. Family, you know?"

I nodded, thinking of family. I had one in prison and the other had not written or even called after I sent her that letter months back. "Yeah. Just go make up with Sally would you? There's enough drama in my life just now."

Susan lightly touched my bump, which I swore had grown since yesterday. "Getting big."

"I can barely more! Getting out of a chair is murder these days."

Susan chuckled. "Nature's way."

I looked hard at Susan. She's worked in the school for two years and it seemed like I hardly knew her, and now was not the time to spell out my list of aches and pains including swollen ankles and sore nipples, haemorrhoids, sore ribs, those funny tingly sensations down my belly, no belly button at all anymore, my fingers were too fat… I stopped the mental monolog when I saw that she was leaking tears.

"Susan?"

She flicked at her cheek. "_Nothing_."

"What is it?" I tucked her more deeply into the corner. "Must be something."

"I…" her lower lip trembled. "Oh, Tim and I have been trying for a baby."

"And?"

"Just a lot of panting and frustration. That might explain why I snapped at Sally. I just wish I was having a baby, like you."

I smiled, knowing now was really not the time to have cataloged my pregnancy discomforts, and rubbed her shoulder. "It will be fine."

"I hope so."

A student came up to us. "Beg Pardon, miss. I _need_ to use the toilet," the girl whispered.

"Duty calls," Sally laughed and bent down to get to the kid's eye level. "Fine. Just go and _don't_ dawdle."

I walked down the hall with the girl. "Go straight back, hear Jane?" I knew that Jane Knight was prone to get distracted.

"Right, Miss Glasson," the girl said.

I waited until I heard the toilet flush and she came out. "Did you wash hands?" I had to flash on Tricia Soames who used to wash her hands raw.

"No, miss."

I turned her around. "Back in then." I watched while she dutifully, yet slowly scrubbed. "Good girl. Now back to class."

She skipped down the hall and I had to smile. Jane stopped by the door and waved shyly to me, which I returned.

I sighed listening to the murmur of youthful voices come down the hallway in my school, where I was Head Teacher, and I just had to laugh at myself. I was going to have a _baby_ – mine and Martin's and maybe – just maybe – things would work out and someday one of those voices would be my child's.


	46. Chapter 46

Rx

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

I was writing out a prescription for a patient. The chart said her name was Althea Gibbons and she had another sinus infection. I stared at her chart. "This is the _third_ infection of the sinuses that you have had in seven weeks? My God. Whatever are you doing?"

She blew her nose loudly and the sound echoed off the surgery walls. "I been taking them pills."

She sniffled at me and I could only imagine the copious population of bacilli in her upper respiratory and sinus passages. "Have you? All of them?" Each antibiotic had been stronger and more directed in treatment yet she was still sick, and now far worse.

She squirmed. "Maybe not _all_, and they taste _bad_."

I sighed. Everyone in this rotten village either ignored my medical care or made up their own. "So instead you _binned_ them."

"Oh yeah. The last lot were the worst! The ones before weren't that bad, but they made my tummy hurt, and the ones before that made my wee smell funny!"

I sighed. "Did you finish _any_ of the antibiotics I prescribed; any at all?" I threw my pen down and it bounced off the desk and almost hit the stupid woman.

She shook her head. "No…. not really."

"So! Because they made you feel _unwell_, you were ready to continue to have plugged sinuses, a raging headache, malaise, a low grade fever, and…" I wound down verbally but launched myself around the desk as she recoiled. I jabbed a finger into her maxillary sinus and pushed.

"OW! Doc?" she yelled. "That hurts!"

"I will be giving you a fourth course of drugs, Augmentin PE, for _three_ weeks. If you DO NOT take ALL OF THEM as I PRESCRIBE I will next have to ship you off to Wadebridge. There in hospital they will knock you out and drill HOLES into the BONES of your head to evacuate the infection!"

The woman blanched as I shouted into her face. "Holes?"

"YES! With a surgical drill!"

Her eyes bugged out and a saw a tear leak down her cheek. "Doc, just give me that scrip, right? If you have me take a _thousand_ pills, I will, but don't drill holes in my head! Okay?"

I went back to my desk chair and finished writing. "I'm glad we had this chat." I gave her the prescription. "I _will_ be checking up with Mrs. Tishell to _ensure_ that at least you have _picked up _the medicine."

Her scared eyes widened. "I will, oh, damn right I will! You can trust me, Doc!"

I sneered and she fled. I all but tossed her notes into the bin in frustration, yet I had a duty of care for the silly oaf, and she was _no different_ than many. Bothering me at all hours for medical help, which was the penultimate step in an entire series of medical happenings, all based on them ignoring what I had previously tried to do for them. That was how a simple cut became a raging infection, nearly costing a hand or limb, crushing asthma attacks when sufferers continued to smoke, or heart patients persisting in eating foods extremely high in saturated fats and cholesterol.

I might as well be banging my head against the wall or dancing round a bonfire making guttural chants for all the good it would do - for that is how it felt most of the time. I sighed as the door opened and I inhaled prepared to yell at the trespasser. "Louisa?"

"Hi," she said in her soft voice.

Just seeing her smiling face surrounded by her shining chestnut hair made all the difference. "I…"

"Problem? You seem upset."

"No."

"Sure?" She waddled over to me and hugged me, pressing my head against her chest while her hands rubbed at my temples. "I can tell you're mad when your face gets all scrunched up, especially at the corners of your eyes and mouth."

I sighed and closed my eyes. "Why are you home?"

"End of the school day, Martin. It's half four, nearly."

She continued to rub my temples and kissed my head. "Better?"

I recalled my ruminations about oxytocin and I did feel myself relaxing a bit; certainly my heart was beating slower. "Yes."

She kissed my forehead and smoothed my hair. "Good. I'll just go have a lie down before dinner. And I'm cooking tonight."

"I bought some sole…"

"I know. I saw it this morning. How about a nice lemon sole? In that mustard and dill sauce, with rice. Broccoli I think too."

I nodded. "Fine."

I heard the phone ring in the waiting room and Pauline shouted. "Doc! Chris Parsons!"

"Better get that," I said.

Louisa's eyes were shining and I didn't know why. "The fish doesn't take long too bake. We can eat at six, if you like."

"That would be… nice." I felt like I was using up my daily stock of 'being nice' words.

"Tell Chris he and Diana should come to dinner… or something." She lurched a teeny bit as she said it, one hand going to her abdomen.

I shot to my feet while she stood stock still by my desk. "Louisa?"

"Oh, I fine. Just a little lurch - no, more of a squeezing sorta thing."

"Braxton Hicks contraction. At thirty-five weeks, the uterus…"

She pressed her hand to my mouth. "Yes, I know. I've read the book."

"Uhm, just wanted to uhm… give you the benefit of my…"

"Doc?" screeched Pauline, who now stood in the doorway. "Dr. Parsons is still waiting."

I ignored her. "If you need, anything?"

Louisa smiled and rubbed her belly. "I'm fine Martin. Being back with you is all I need at the moment."

I nodded and picked up the handset.

"Mart? It's Chris," he said. "I need to… well this is awkward…"

"Go on."

Chris sighed at me while I watched Louisa lumber from my consulting room. I wanted her to stop working, but obstinate woman that she was, I could not tell her _anything_ she did not want to hear. Louisa Glasson you are _nothing_ if not _stubborn_.

"Go on Chris."

"This is… you won't - like it," he said.

"I can take my medicine. Spit it out."

"This prescription will taste bad, Mart; trust me."

I sighed. "Try me."


	47. Chapter 47

Ruffled

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

Martin was upset; that was pretty clear. He shoveled his food into his mouth mechanically, which wasn't that unusual, dabbed at his mouth with a tissue precisely, as always, but there was something about his eyes, which had a sort of thousand-yard stare.

"Hello?" I said and waved a hand in front of his face.

"Ahm, yes?"

"Something going on?"

"No." He scooped up the last of his dinner and rose in one swift motion carrying his plate to the sink.

"There must be."

He ran water and rinsed the plate in a few seconds.

I looked at him in disbelief. "There is, isn't there?" I felt my lip get chewed on automatically. I wasn't in the mood for a row. I just wanted… "Martin?"

"Hm?" He dried his hands and picked up the water pitcher. "More water. If you drink more it may relieve further Braxton-Hicks contractions."

I sighed then gritted my teeth.

"Another contraction?"

"No!"

He set the pitcher down. "Have I offended you in some way?"

I tried to remain calmer, or at least to get calmer. "You sit there, all locked up, tight as a drum. I can see it from your eyes to the rigid set of your back! You're hiding something, Martin!" My tone had grown harsh. "You can't just…" I stopped. "Sorry. Didn't mean to get all spikey."

He sighed. "Ahm, yes. No."

"Which is it?" I took his hand. "Just talk to me."

He sat down by my side. "Alright."

"You got a phone call."

"From Chris Parsons."

"And, I suppose he didn't just call to pass the time of day. His wife might call me to do that, but Chris wouldn't do that to you."

Martin looked away. "It seems…"

"Seems?" The baby kicked me hard, but I didn't react, for Martin must be in some sort of trouble.

"Uhm, Parsons…"

He called him Parsons, this is serious, I thought. "Go on."

He closed his eyes then opened them. "There has been a complaint."

I grinned at him. "There always are, but you're a good doctor. Best one the village ever has had."

"Ahm, yes. But the PCT has been notified that I may have…" he cleared his throat and tugged at his collar. "Not been honest."

"With Imperial Hospital?" We had not discussed his move, or lack of, to London. I assumed that had been settled by unspoken agreement when I moved back into his house.

He exhaled slowly. "Part of it."

"Look, Martin, we can play twenty questions or you can just tell me what the hell is the matter!"

He stood up. "Fine. Robert Dashwood, my old tutor, has gotten wind that my, um, haemophobia has not abated and therefore…"

"He's claiming that you lied to him."

"Yes. Then there is… the other matter, or two."

"More?"

"Dr. Montgomery has lodged a formal complaint that I had, um, mistreated her."

"What?! You're joking."

"She has made the specious argument that when she, passed out on the kitchen floor, that I had a duty of care, and that by placing her back in her car, I had neglected that care."

"You told me that she was unhurt; drunk actually; and that you took her to her car."

"Louisa that is _exactly_ what I did. I also ensured that she was unhurt, and that her pulse and blood pressure were normal, before I, ahem, removed her."

"So, she means that since she came to you, a doctor, and needed treatment when she fell over in a drunken faint, that you failed to play doctor?" I huffed. "I can only imagine that she did want you to _play_ _doctor_ with her. That witch!" I felt my blood boil. So that bloody bitch Edith kept wanting to mess with us? I'd put that tosser Adrian Pitts in his place and I certainly could handle Edith.

Martin nodded with a guarded look. "Yesss. Seems she has de Clérambault's syndrome."

"Erotomania." I sighed and rubbed his hand again. "She's mad."

"I believe so."

I looked at Martin Christopher Ellingham and felt my heart break for him. "So what's the PCT going to do?"

"They'll make an inquiry. It's already started."

"But I thought the haemophobia is gone?"

He shook his head. "I thought so."

My mind was racing. "But the Edith thing?" I dare not mention whether he was moving to London, if he thought he still was and if I was going with him, or what about the baby?

"It will be settled. Chris is a fair man."

"But it's not just Chris Parsons is it? There will be others and let's face it Martin, you don't exactly go around making friends and glad handing people!"

His guarded face turned to me. "You may be right."

"Sorry you're all ruffled."

"I'm not," he said but from the way he glared at me, I knew it wasn't true. Martin was a truthful man, but at times he didn't quite let the whole truth come from his mouth.

"We'll sort it." I said and standing up I held him close. "We _will_."

He was all stiff in my arms and he uttered one of those sighs of his. This one felt like it came from the bottom of his soul, whisking through the cracks in his armor.

"Sure," he said but he didn't sound very sure at all.


	48. Chapter 48

Reflection

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

I managed to get through the night, but I didn't actually sleep at all. There comes a time during an insomnia episode that you know with certainty that you will not sleep, and that moment came around 3 in the AM. Louisa lay on her right side snoring softly, occasionally shifting in her sleep. Her legs had grown restless these last few weeks, and no wonder with her pregnancy so far advanced. She also rose to use the toilet at 11 and at 2. Each time I had feigned sleep as there was not cause for her to be alarmed at my wakefulness.

I knew exactly was happening and I was powerless to do anything about it. The call from Parsons had opened the floodgates and the present troubles and concerns had opened the door – a door I wished to _forget_.

Twice the day before I had to vomit when treating patients with bloody cuts. That put the lie to my protestations that I had cured myself of my hypersensitivity to blood. In desperation I had even started to call Milligan, although I found his manner to be too touchy-feely to be of actual use, yet he had elicited a number of secrets that I did admit were holding back my advancement.

I stared up at the dark ceiling, the blackness pressing in, and though I closed my eyes and put my hand over my face, I was gritting my teeth. Try as I might to reinforce the knowledge that I was an adult, and was on the high side of forty, it was at times like these I was back under the stairs; a scared child. Until I was eleven I had thought that sort of punishment was perfectly normal.

It was only when I had slipped up; telling one of my would-be mates what often happened at home, that his laughter forced home the awareness that my mum locking me in that dark hole was _not_ natural. So the next time, I had fought her, with all the might in my skinny body I had struggled, bracing myself against the door frame, until she had kicked my feet out from under me and jammed me inside.

In a last moment of defiance I struck out with my fist, hitting her on the arm, and her screech of rage was accompanied by the slam of the door softened only by the cushion of my fingers. The pain was quite unlike any other. It telegraphed up my arm, much as lightning or a strong electrical shock would feel (I read about that later), locking my voice box tight; all the air frozen in my lungs.

"Go on!" she screamed at me in my silence. "Cry you little bastard!"

I saw her face through the gap between door and jamb and it was strangely smooth, without emotion, her voice shoving out all her rage. In one shove, I threw myself at the panel knocking her backward. I swiftly eeled out of that dark hole and stood over her.

She stared up at me and then in shock and perhaps a little fear said, "Martin?"

I pressed my hurt and throbbing hand under my armpit and looked down at her. For some odd reason I felt both fear _and_ pity of and for her. My arm hurt horribly and I was trembling in rage, my pulse thudded from my injured hand to my head, making my head and eardrums bounce in time. I wanted to… _wanted_ to… HURT her… and that notion made me stop.

I do not know what place it came from, but there were two thoughts in my mind. The first, I was familiar with and that was that _I_ had provoked _her_, made _her_ angry, and if I hadn't fought her and had allowed myself to be forced into the cupboard under those stairs, she would not lie cowering under my legs, her dark eyes wide in horror.

The original infraction, messing up her carefully arranged fashion and home magazines on the side table by the couch seemed now that I thought about it, as so _inconsequential_. Was that worth being locked up; in the dark for an hour or two; would it be _justified_? Some part of me expected that her judgment was absolute and perfect, but now I doubted anything she ever did to me or for me.

But the other thought, and it was so strange years later to examine it, was that I had to only say one thing – two words. Part of my mind was cautioning me, for there were other punishments that would be played out on me, from mum, or dad, in the form of belt or racket. For if she told… the cautionary voice whispered inside my head… _don't say it!_

I ignored the safe and sensible route, leaned forward, putting my eleven-year-old face inches from hers. "_Never again_," I whispered.

Mum recoiled far more than I thought possible – a psychic motion that I did not see, only sensed. It was from that moment on that I knew that she and I were in different worlds; she in one and I another. She might humiliate me and shame me with words, but the cupboard was a thing of the past.

I turned, closed and locked the cupboard door, and looked down at her again in rage. This time she withdrew several inches and ducked her head.

She opened her mouth to speak but I said to her, "_No_." My words were soft, as soft as a snowflake and I knew from the shock in her eyes, that we had reached a different accord - an accord of _neutrality_.

When dad came home I was sitting with my hand in a bag of ice.

"What happened, boy?" he asked in his gruff way.

"Nothing," was my answer.

"Where's your mother?"

I sighed, feeling like a stranger in a strange land having no allies or reinforcements. "I believe, dad that she is lying down."

"Humph." He sat down to read the paper.

Louisa stirred and put an arm over me, pulling me tightly to her. It was then and only then that after thirty years I allowed words to spring up over the matter. "_Damn_ her."

Louisa woke. "Martin? What?"

I froze. This personal hell must stay hidden, locked up as I once had been. "Nothing." My feelings had been stirred up by Parsons' call, the mad Edith, the trouble with Imperial, the baby due in weeks, not months. I sighed.

Louisa rolled onto her back and looked at the clock. "Three thirty? Can't you sleep?"

"Shhh. Go to back to sleep, Louisa." I could just make out her face in the light from the clock. "It's nothing."

She rolled back to me and kissed my neck. "Don't worry, Martin. Tomorrow's another day."

Oddly it was something that Auntie Joan used to tell me. "Okay."

Louisa snuggled close and I felt the solid presence of her baby next to me. If there was a God, he or she would have heard my silent prayer. _"I will not be like my parents."_

And I was wrong thinking it was _her_ baby, for she took my hand in hers and laid it on her belly. "He's moving."

If we must know darkness to understand the miracle of sight, then I knew I was wrong – so very wrong. It wasn't her baby after all – it was _ours_. "Goodnight Louisa," I told her.

She held my hand against her and the baby rolled and stretched. "G'nite, luv," she said back. "We'll be fine."

I smelled her hair and shampoo, the odor of perspiration as her rotund body tried to dissipate the extra heat of her higher metabolism and the life inside her, the odor of the clean sheets I'd put on the bed that morning, and the damp smell of the rain that had fallen earlier. It was dark in our bedroom, not as dark as that damned cupboard, but with Louisa next to me I was somehow _no longer afraid_.


	49. Chapter 49

Robot

**The characters, places and situations of **_**Doc Martin,**_** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

"Harbor Day's just three weeks off, Louisa, surely you have to let me get time with the kids to practice!" Tasha stared at me and if her eyes were daggers, I'd be bleeding on the floor.

"I know, I know… it's just…"

"Just what? Listen Louisa, someday that kid of yours will be bouncing around like mine and Tommy's girl, and you'll be dying to figure out ways to enrich her education! Dance, music, art…"

"I know," I cut her off. "I know all that, Tasha!"

"It's not all Internet and telly, right? Video games, Facebook, email, and on line forums! The other day Susie was watching the most horrid thing on that We Tube!"

"You Tube - it's called You Tube."

"Whatever. And you know what she was watching?"

"Tasha, look, can we, uhm, discuss this later? I really need to go to the toilet."

"She was watchin' a dance routine. Oh sure it were that American, Gene Kelly, prancin' all over Paris - from the movie, but she was jumping up and down, whirling around..." She leaned over my office desk and yelled at me. "If we don't dance, or paint, or sing, we're all just a bunch of bloody robots! Can't you see that?"

The baby kicked my bladder and I almost had to wee right then and there. "I can only imagine that you enthusiastic for this dance routine, Tasha. Now, if you don't mind, I have things to do." I started to struggle to my feet and Tasha gave a swift cry and jumped around the desk to help me. "And what's wrong with Gene Kelly?"

She grabbed my elbow and pulled me erect. "God, Lou, I am being a nattering fool, badgering you about a silly dance and here you are, big as a house, struggling day to day, nearly ready to pop, and you putting up with Doctor Personality as well! I expect he's a real nightmare at times - cold and harsh as always."

"Tasha!"

"Sorry, sorry, Louisa - so sorry. I been worried you see, Tommy's taxi business is not all it's cracked up to be. Fuel cost is a killer and we had to buy a new gearbox for the old bus, but I been warnin' Tommy he rides the clutch. But you know how men can be - they know it all don't they? _Tommy's Taxis_ - just one bloody car is all, but if my Tommy is a fool, I love him all the more. And look if the kid wants to dance, I should be teaching her!"

I'd had a row with Martin last week over the district midwife, who was a rather bossy and officious lady who clearly had very rigid ideas.

"Midwife?" Martin had nearly exploded. "You must be joking!"

"No, I'm not," I told him. "Perfectly safe."

He threw his medical journal down and practically screamed. "Safe? Safe? Having babies at home, or worse in one of those dreadful blowup pools, has to be _far_ better than birthing in hospital! Right? Perfect!"

"I was sorta thinking about it."

"You're mad! Or _Bodmin_ if you prefer the local lingo! Bloody midwife; not if I have anything to say about it!"

"Martin! I only wanted to say…"

"Stop right there! I know this is your baby, but it's also mine! I really think that you should…" he stopped. "God. Louisa, I…"

"No Martin!" I yelled back. "I've been reading a book about it, and I'm sure it would be fine! You can't just reject things out of hand like that! We can talk about it, can't we?"

Martin rubbed his temples and turned away. "Louisa, I - I think that it would be better if you availed yourself of all that medical science can afford you. Have you any idea of the risk of a home birth, to you and the baby? Prolapsed umbilical cord, birth asphyxia, placenta previa, are only SOME of the accidents of birth, not to mention the exquisite agony that forcing a baby into the world through your pelvis, which would be _quite_ the _wonderful_ _time_ without MODERN pain relief!"

His reaction quote took my breath away, but there was something to what he was saying. "Isobel Brown did just fine!" I huffed. "Surely you know that? And no I'm not being foolish, if you must know."

"Brown? Who the hell are you talking about?"

"Isobel? My friend? My bridesmaid? I suppose you don't recall delivering her baby girl up on the headland do you?" How in hell could he have forgotten that?

"Ah, yes. Eye patch. Shot herself in the eye with a party popper. I recall her."

I rolled my eyes and sat down in his visitor's chair while he stomped back and forth like a caged beast. "Isobel is my friend, Martin. We still talk on the phone. Her little girl must be about nine months old by now. And it was our wedding day! How could you possibly have forgotten?"

He came back to his desk chair and sat, his face strained. "Louisa, yes, I do remember now; just had forgotten her name." He fiddled with his pen. "And no, I have not forgotten that day."

I sighed. "Look, I wasn't _seriously_ considering using this O'Brien woman. I only wanted to see what you thought."

He seemed slightly restrained and slowly told me, "I don't want any danger to happen, Louisa. Not to you or to our baby."

That simple word 'our' made my heart leap into my throat. He'd never said that before. "Our?"

"Ahm, yes. _Our_." He reached across the desk and touched my hand. "Louisa, I need you to be safe. Hospital, okay?"

Tasha walked me to the door. "Louisa please give me just twenty minutes on the playground each day? I can take the best dancers, call it supplemental PE, if you must, but please?"

I sagged. "Okay. Twenty minutes and I'll have the gymnasium ready if you need it on rainy days."

Tasha kissed my cheek. "You're great!"

I moved a half step away from her. "And Tasha, one other thing, Doctor Ellingham, Martin, is my _partner_, the _father_ of my baby, and no he's not a robot. He's quite the opposite." I peered at her intently. "Got it?"

"Right, Lou. So sorry I said that."

"Fine," I snapped back. "That's sorted then."


	50. Chapter 50

Retreat

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

"What do you want me to do - or say - or…?" Penhale's eyes practically were bugging out at me. "Just say the word, Doctor. "I'd be glad to, how to say this, do _anything_?"

Penhale had cornered me on the Platt, and in spite of trying to evade the man, he'd backed me up against the chemist shop. "What are you asking about?" I took a step to the side but he shifted to block me.

"We are _professionals_, you and me, and the village _depends_ on _both_ of us," he whispered. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

"I think things would go down rapidly without a village doctor," I replied.

"Look, Doc. Your Chris Parsons called me the other day…"

"He's not my _anything_."

"Well, Doctor Parsons is essentially your boss, isn't he? I understand you were in Medical School together."

"That is correct, up to a point," I sniffed.

"Look Doc, about this Montgomery woman. I'll say whatever you tell me to. If you need me to say she threatened you, or pulled a weapon, and even stripped off and threw herself at you," he winked and punched my arm, "you just _say_ the word."

"Tell what you know. Nothing more. The truth."

"Yeah, but…" he blinked at me in the bright sunlight and his common and slightly mad smile sprang to his lips, "if they think they can punish you - jail even - who knows? I will do everything, _anything_, to keep you here - in our little village."

"Humph." I started to edge further away when the door behind me flew open and the voice of Mrs. Tishell intruded.

"Oh _Doctor Ellingham_! I was _just_ coming out to clean the window and _here_ you are!" she gushed. "So _nice_ to see you! I was reading in the MHRA a _very_ interesting article about tri-glycerides and their correlation to age-related atherosclerosis. I have some Ginger Lemon Cremes on hand and I can put the kettle on if you want to come in and discuss it?" She took my elbow and pushed me lightly towards her shop front.

"Mrs. T," said Joe. "Doctor Ellingham well, we - were having a _private_ discussion. I'd appreciate it if you would…"

Mrs. Tishell practically pushed the village policeman away and stepped in front of me, gazing at me with apparent worship and a sappy grin. "Now Doctor, if you would just go through?" She turned to Joe, saying "I'm sure Doctor Ellingham won't mind, would you? I find it most _stimulating_ to have an academic discussion - uhm - from time to time." She smiled and winked.

I recoiled and tried once more to be on my way.

"Doc! Wait!" Joe shouted.

"Oh go away, Joe!" she shouted and practically shoved me towards the doorway.

Joe went on, "But, Doc, what about the…"

I shouted "Shush!"

"What about the hearing?" Joe asked.

"Oh dear," Sally whispered. "That does _not_ sound good. What have you been up to, you naughty boy? Has Miss Glasson done something? How are she and the baby?"

"No!" Joe and I shouted at once.

"Sorry," he said. "Look, Doc," he held up his mobile. "Call me?" He mouthed the words '_we need to talk_.' He saluted sloppily and sauntered away, thumbs hooked over his belt.

Mrs. Tishell shook her head. "That man…" She wagged her head more slowly and sadly. "He does go on, doesn't he?"

I looked at her and nodded feeling that for once she and I agreed on something. "Best be getting on."

"Now on to tea? The orange crèmes? I have jammy dodgers as well." She gazed up at me with her fascinated look. "Oh, Doctor Ellingham, what can _I_ do for you?"

I thought that tea and biscuits would not fix my present troubles. I snuck a look at my watch. "I must go."

"Oh, yes, yes, I see. Busy, busy man, I do understand; do understand." Her blue eyes brightened. "Some other time then? Sure you won't… come in _now_?"

Fortunately, I was saved by old Mr. Albert who came around the corner mumbling. "Oh, Doc Martin! Say I was telling the Mrs. I should see you!"

"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Albert?" I asked him.

"_Armstrong_," the old man said. "And I got the most terrible ringing in my ears! And I feel faint at times too!"

"Of course, so now," I took his shoulder and turned him towards the surgery. "Go to my surgery."

The old man shuffled off.

I looked down at Mrs. Tishell, as her eyes shone, making a sad contrast to her foam neck collar. "I'd better…"

"Oh yeah," Mrs. T said. "Busy as always… bye then."

I took the old duffer's arm and moved him along. "Come then, with me."

"Doc, right nice of you to take me and right quick too." He looked over his shoulder. "Old Sal is a wavin' at us."

I kept face forward and marched him along, for to do otherwise, would make my advance look like a retreat.

"Bye, Doc!" I heard Mrs. Tishell call out. "Bye…" her voice trailed off.

"She's a bit Bodmin, ain't she?"

"Shush," I said.

"Now about my hearin'…"

"Wait until we get to my consulting room," I told him. "Patient confidentially." But I knew when I got him inside and the door closed I could set aside part of my troubles and concentrate on a patient.

"Right then, Doc. I'll keep my trap shut until we get there."

And for a few blessed moments, punctuated only by waves and seagulls, there was silence.


	51. Chapter 51

Reminiscence

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

I got home from school and I was absolutely exhausted. End of term was approaching fast, almost as fast as my baby who'd been seemingly using my bladder for a trampoline the entire afternoon, interrupted by forays back to kidneys, up towards my stomach and outward in the general direction where my belly button used to be.

Pauline gave me a funny look when I came into the house by the kitchen door. "You ok, Louisa? You look…"

"Pregnant, yes, I know," I said wearily and sagged into a chair.

She crouched down by me giving me a concerned look. "You poor thing. You should have a lie down. I was goin' to say knackered."

I sighed. "Too many things to do. Just worn out carrying this thing around." Just then the baby made a very vigorous move which made me wince. As I shifted my position to get those tiny feet or an elbow out of my spine, the back door sprang open and Joan came in carrying a covered casserole dish and the smell of backed veg and chicken made my mouth water.

"Louisa?" Joan said quickly, "_you_ don't look very comfortable." Then she smiled but her lower lip quivered as her face dropped into a sad look. "I'd have given my left arm to have a baby." She plopped a dish towel onto the counter and put the dish down. "Still hot. Good. Now how _are_ you doing?"

I took her hand and squeezed it. "Oh, Joan; bit tired actually."

She put her hand on my belly and rubbed it. "I see. That's all water under the bridge, Louisa. And how are you Pauline?" Her hand fell away and I could tell she wanted to keep it on my bump.

"'Kay." She popped her gum. "Sorry. The Doc don't like me chewin' gum around the patients, but he's in there with the last one."

"Who is it?" asked Joan.

"Carrie Wilson," she sniffed. "She came down to check on the hotel and of course – she felt _woozy_." She cracked her gum. "At _least_ she left her dog at home."

Joan gave me a swift glance, her mouth set.

Pauline laughed. "I guess she learnt to keep her teeny-tiny dogs out of the Doc's way," she cackled. "But that woman sure can come on strong – all simpering and rubbing her baps against a man's arm. I even seen her do with Bert! That's a laugh!"

"Pauline…" I started to say. Carrie Wilson was not someone I wanted in the house, even if she was a patient.

"That was an _accident_," finished Joanie, "the dog, I mean."

Martin had run over her little Yorkie Terrier years back. Martin got a slap from Carrie when he came clean about it. That was one of the things that I noticed very early about Martin, for even when he'd done wrong he'd admit his fault, such as last night he'd apologized for making me pregnant.

"What?" I practically yelled into his ear, when he was snuggled up to my side in our bed. At first it was Martin's bed but lately it had become our bed. "Why would you say that?"

He sighed. "If I hadn't been so, uhm, _eager_, the precautions might have worked."

Should I tell him that the condoms were old? I kissed his cheek. "No need to say sorry. I quite _enjoy_ having a baby." I really did, but the aches and pains, the constant having to pee, swollen ankles, and sleepless nights I could do without, but it appeared you can't have one without the other.

Martin reared up on his elbow and I could just make out his eyes in the dimness of the room. "You mean that? From the grunting and groaning when you get out of a chair or out of bed, it _doesn't_ seem that way to me."

"No, its fine," I told him and I meant it. "Getting pregnant forced us to be together, didn't it?"

"Not without incident."

"But you didn't know that we _were_ pregnant when you came to London, did you? No. Neither of us did, not really."

He nodded. "But…"

"No, Martin! _No_ buts. Right?"

"Right."

"And if I recall, it does take two to make a baby, and _you_ weren't the _only_ eager one, now were you? I practically dragged you upstairs into my bed. And that reminds me the crib is still over at Mr. Routledge's in a flat-pack box."

He sighed. "When I asked you – ahem – to marry, I _didn't_ _think_ you'd say yes, considering our argument of a few days before."

At the charity concert he'd told me that my perfume smelled like urine and that I was emotional because I was getting my period. I fled from his car after telling him tearfully that we were finished. When I thought back to my fateful sentence, _'Martin, I don't want to see you anymore' _it made my eyes water and my throat felt tight.

But then, Holly came to the village, hurt her back, had to stay in my house, and when she nearly died after a fall while Martin was treating her, I suppose it stripped everything down to bedrock. Martin stood there telling me he _wasn't extraordinary_ after saving Holly, but when he said, "Marry me," I didn't quite believe what I'd just heard.

"_Please_, Louisa," he'd added, "I can't live without you."

I reached over in the dark and took his hand, kissed his palm, and pressed it against me between bump and breasts. "Shush. Shush. It's fine - we're fine. All _fine_."

He pressed me close and I felt warm and safe, something I'd not always felt as a girl, since our resources were always in short supply – from money to food to love.

"Louisa?" asked Pauline. "You got all dreamy for a minute. Baby kick?"

I shook my head, back in the here-and-now. "Just reminiscing, is all."

"Pauline!" Martin roared from the other room. "Where are Mrs. Wilson's notes?"

"On your desk, doc!" Pauline yelled back. "Honestly," she whispered to me and Joan. "He'd forget his head if it wasn't screwed on tight."

"Can't find them!" came a male bellow.

Pauline stood up. "Better go - he's lost without me. Daft thing." She clumped off yelling. "I put them on your desk!"

Martin yelled back, sticking his head out of the consulting room. "They're not here!"

"They have to be," Pauline said. "Come on, let's find 'em."

Joan walked over and closed the hall door, shutting off some of their bickering. "Ah, my nephew, always such a joy. Now, Louisa I thought I'd stay for supper, if I might."

"Sure Joan, anytime," I said and smiled as Joan bent down and hugged my shoulders.

"I'm so very proud of you and Martin, you know."

The feeling of last night came back – home, warmth, and family surrounded me, and the baby kicked reminding me that this little family would grow by one and _very soon_.

"And what's this about some trouble for Marty from the PCT?" Joan said. "It can't be too terrible, can't it?"

I sighed. "Hope not."

"Tell me about it."

I rubbed my bump and tried to keep my voice level, but I felt anything but calm. "After supper."


	52. Chapter 52

Redeem

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

Joan stirred her coffee and sipped at it. "I do like the way you make coffee, Martin."

"It's espresso, Auntie Joan," I said. "It was invented by an Italian businessman who wished his workers to more rapidly buy a coffee from the café down the street and get back to work. So he developed a way to steep the ground coffee with pressurized and very hot water."

"I ought to have known I'd get a technical explanation," Joan answered.

The words were on my tongue to explain further, but I swallowed them.

Joan went on, "Now, Louisa, just _when_ are you going to stop work?"

Louisa's mouth quivered. "Martin was saying I should already have stopped."

"You _should_," I said. "Late in pregnancy, fatigue can lead to…" Louisa kicked me under the table and I stopped.

Louisa smiled at my aunt, while my shin ached. "Martin and I have been discussing it and I think I'll cut down to three days a week, until term is over."

"Two," I told her. "_Two_ days."

"Martin…" Louisa bristled, "I'll work three days, or perhaps _only_ mornings."

"Mornings would be good, that's only two and a half days," I sniffed.

Joan chuckled. "You two are acting almost like normal people! But perhaps I shouldn't have put it quite that way."

I rose and cleared my coffee things. "More water, Louisa?"

"No." Louisa sagged a bit against the kitchen table, her abdomen jammed against it. "Normal? Wot you mean by that Joan? I think Martin and I… are… _different_, is all."

Joan glanced from her to me and back. "Perhaps I used the wrong word. Look, Louisa, and you too Martin, you're both - _special_ people. You each have your own ways of dealing with things. Marty, you tend to be too factual, and not _very_ _forgiving_, if I can use that word in a sentence about you. And you, Louisa, you want everyone to be at peace, and God knows with people in this world such a thing is not possible. It is a lofty goal, but I fear I'll never see it."

"You think that people can't get along?" Louisa asked testily. "That your nephew and I… are at odds?"

I kept my mouth shut but wrinkled my nose as I sat back down at the table.

Joan touched my hand and I withdrew it. "Marty, _you_ know what I mean."

"You think I can't forgive, that it?" I practically shouted but found myself lowering my voice as Louisa's face clouded. "Haven't I… uhm, tried to?"

Louisa leaned across the table and he voice was like ice as it came out. "I didn't _marry you_ Martin, so have you forgiven me for that?"

That was a question I had not quite considered. Our living arrangements were our mutual concern, but I would prefer to be married to Louisa, while she seemed willing to accept being my domestic partner. But when her, _our_, child was born, it would complicate things further. "Louisa, it's not a matter of me… forgiving you… is it?"

"Oh?" she answered me haughtily. "Haven't we got an arrangement?" One of her hands reached out under the table and patted my knee. It was the same leg she'd kicked earlier and the contrast was striking. "But I suppose," she sighed, "you want to be _conventional_."

"Louisa, it is _not_ a _matter_ of _conventionality_! It's not about us, is it? When that baby arrives…" I stopped and breathed deep. "I think you know my thoughts on the issue."

Joan sipped her espresso. "So… I can only assume that you are content, both of you, to just live together."

It was Louisa's turn to sigh. "Joan, if _we_ thought getting married would make a _difference_…"

My aunt shook her head. "Like I said, you two, are different in your own ways, but to see you together - like this - makes me happy."

I tried not to react to her words.

"I mean it, Martin!" Joan said. "You're not fighting, bickering, or even arguing, just _discussing_."

Louisa ducked her head and bit her lip. "You think we're happy?"

Joan laughed. "Louisa, I know my nephew is a piece of work, and I've known you since you were a baby! I'm the one person in the village, if not the world, who can see what you mean to each other. Believe or not you are making a go of it, and that is good, and not just for that baby inside you, girl! You each _need_ the other!"

Louisa's hand clutched my knee and my breath caught. "You said need?" Louisa said.

Joan rose and stretched. "Better be getting back to the farm to check on the chickens. I'll pick up my casserole dish tomorrow."

"Joan?" Louisa said. "I think you'd better explain - about me and Martin."

Joan hobbled to the back door, opened it and looked back at us. "If you two can't figure out what you mean to one another, then I'll have to knock your heads together!" She laughed. "Look, if you are the one person the other wants to see in the morning and when you turn the lights out at night, then that's exactly the way it should be. I think you each _redeem_ the other, but I've said enough." She came over to kiss Louisa on the cheek and patted my shoulder. "Bye you two. And don't get all bollixed up over this hearing thing. I have to quote Bert Large. _'Just go with the flow'. _And I'll add my own words, something I told you time and again, Marty. Just tell the truth."

The door closed behind her and Louisa gasped. "She said _redeem_."

"To make something acceptable or better," I said.

Louisa had a funny expression. "Do you agree with her, Martin?"

I touched her cheek with my hand. "Yes."

She smiled. "Oh… right. Then that's _good_. Right?"

I nodded in agreement. "Right."

Louisa leaned around the table's corner. "Give me a kiss."

So I did.


	53. Chapter 53

Relief

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

I looked at Martin that night in bed, as he sat there staring at a medical journal. "This hearing that's coming up - what do you think will happen?" I'd been plumping both pillows behind me while I fidgeted with the duvet, and my too tight and too warm nightgown, while I tried to reach some semblance of comfort.

"You're not doing well, are you?" he asked.

I was honest. "No. My back is hurting again, and I just can't find _any_ position that doesn't, well, hurt, somehow."

He threw down the journal and whipped his head around. "Hurt? Pain? Where does it hurt? Any belly cramping?" His hands sprang to my belly and he prodded me. "Low back pain? Sort of a rolling throb?"

"Martin! Stop it."

But he didn't stop feeling me. "No," he poked my belly and back. "No. Not labor."

"I think I'd be able to tell that, wouldn't I? Really, Martin! Trust me to know my own body!"

"Oh? Most primagravidas are blissfully unaware of the mechanisms of labor and delivery and of course are totally ignorant about prelabor!"

I felt my mouth fall open. "So I'm an ignorant dolt? Worse, a PREGNANT ignorant dolt? That it?"

He tried to take my hand as I batted him away. "Louisa… that's _not_ what I'm saying."

I pushed myself out of bed. "You can… _stuff_ _it_, Martin!"

"Oh, Louisa, don't be that way!"

I turned on him and felt more heat rush to my face. "Martin! You can be the most… OOOOH! Pain in the arse! You know that?"

He sprang from the bed with hands held out and a shocked look on his face. "Look, I'm only…"

And then the green-eyed monster struck and words came out of my mouth from the worry I had tried to suppress. "And maybe if you were with that red-haired doctor witch you'd be happier? That it? Because if that's the way you really feel, you can just sod off!"

He rocked back as if I'd physically punched him. "Louisa!"

"And I bet you wish this was her baby and you were having it with _her_!"

Martin stood like a statue and the horrified look he gave me told me that I was wrong as his mouth gaped like a fish out of water. In the vacuum between us, my heart skipped a beat as the shame of what I'd just said hit me. "God, Martin, I didn't _mean_ to say that!"

He sagged onto the bed. "You must have meant some of it."

I waddled around the bed and plopped down next to him. "No, Martin. God, I _didn't_ mean it. I am _sorry_." I grabbed his hand though he tried to shake me off. "Sorry - so sorry."

He wouldn't look at me, now staring off into a corner.

I tried to get thru to him again. "I mean it, Martin! I am _so_ sorry! I didn't mean it. Not any of it. Please forgive me?"

He sighed. "Louisa, I do not _want_ or _need_ Edith Montgomery. Got it?"

I rubbed his hand and he interlaced his fingers with mine after a minute. "Sorry, Martin," I sniffed. "I've been… worried is all."

He looked at me silently.

"I am sorry Martin! Can you forgive me?" Tears were running down my face and I was that close to openly sobbing.

He rose and walked to the door, going down the hall and my heart did skip a beat as I thought I really had torn it.

Now I really was crying, shaking and whining. "Mar…tin?" I called after him as I beat a fist on the bed as I'd really done it - torn it to pieces once and for all. I didn't want to be a single mum and now… well - damn! All my fault! Stupid, stupid woman!

Martin walked back in holding a tissue box in his hand. "Dry your eyes."

I wiped, honked and dabbed at my nose while he handed me tissue after tissue. He held a bin nearby which I half filled with mangled and soggy tissues, until I calmed down.

"Better?" he asked.

I nodded dumbly and watched while he set the bin aside then squatted down and peered into my face.

He closed his eyes for a moment then spoke. "Louisa, I have told you time and time again that you are the woman I want, _need_ rather, in my life. Not Edith. Why don't you believe me?"

I had to say another name. "Or Carrie Wilson?"

He shook his head. "Louisa, Mrs. Wilson came to see me about a pimple on her forehead! The woman is just as much of a hypochondriac as she ever was!"

"And I've seen Mrs. Tishell mooning over you as well!" I gulped. "You'll think I'm being jealous or worse, but I worry about these things, Martin. And don't you go saying I'm _emotional_ because I'm _pregnant_!"

"Louisa…" he whispered, "you are…" he cleared his throat, "the only woman I want in my life. Believe me. Not some slightly bonkers village chemist either!"

"How can I believe that? Really know, Martin?"

He sighed and shook his head. "Why did I come up to London to that dirty little bedsit of yours? Hmm? Not to have tea and a chat. NO! It was to bring you back to Portwenn, for God help me for saying it, but I could not stand being in the biscuit-in town without you! Haven't we been through all this?"

I looked deep into his eyes. "You mean it," I sighed. "You _do_."

"Louisa… I do mean it, _absolutely_. I would have gone to the ends of the Earth to find you."

The last few nights I'd lain awake tormenting myself with jealous thoughts; Edith Montgomery, Sally Tishell, the greengrocer who was so pleasant to Martin, gruff though he was to her, even that cow Carrie Wilson, had all danced through my head. The baby kicked me but I did not react outwardly. "Sorry, Martin. I suppose when I start to doubt _myself_, I start to doubt _you_ as well."

"You shouldn't Louisa. These thoughts might be the normal fears of a change in your life, in our lives, of becoming a parent." He gulped and shook his head. "If they continue, there may be some other underlying cause."

"I have officially become a nervous mum-to-be then." I sighed. "That's a relief then because it's just me, and being silly. But look at me!" I protested. "Can't even see my feet, I'm so huge and bulgy! And the other day I had on mis-matched shoes!"

His voice softened. "Louisa, you are the most beautiful woman that I know."

I shook my head at him. "No. And I worry about what happens later - you and me. What if you don't want me?"

"You are; you are being silly. And you'll make a fine mother." He stroked my cheek. "Okay?" Martin shook his head. "Such thoughts _may_ be manifestations of late pregnancy on top of your own feelings about our… situation." He stared at the floor for a moment. "Louisa, I will always want you - love you - and our baby."

I sighed, for that thought had been bothering me too. Martin was the father of my baby, and I did want him to be involved, and… and what? He looked at me with those penetrating eyes of his but with a hint of fear. "I'm afraid."

He nodded. "Me too."

"You?" How could he be afraid? He was the strongest and bravest man that I knew! "Doc Martin feels fear?"

He cleared his throat. "Fear may be the wrong word. _Concerned _might be a better one."

"Yeah, maybe that would a slightly better way to put it; the baby and all."

"Right."

"Help me up Martin." He tugged me to my feet and I hugged him tightly. His cheek was bristly with short whiskers but I kissed it gently anyway.

"It will be fine," he said.

I'd moved back into his house but there was one more thing I could do - rather, should do. "Martin, where is your grandmother's ring?" I looked at his craggy face and knew what I just had to do for both of us.

"The one I gave you? The one I dropped into your potatoes?"

"Yeah, that one." He knew very well which ring!

"The one you gave back to me, before you went to London." He looked nervous as he said it.

"Yeah… can you lay your hands on it please?"

Martin let me go, reached in his dresser and pulled out a small box, one I recognized. "You are sure?" he asked shyly.

"Uh, huh." I held out my right hand. "Give it here."

He slowly put it into my hand and I opened the tiny velvet box. The diamond and ruby ring nestled there just as I knew it would, for Martin was sentimental to some degree. "What you think?" I asked

He looked shocked. "Uhmm, your choice."

I pulled the ring out and examined it closely. It clearly would not fit on my swollen ring finger, but with a little urging I managed to slide it onto the little finger of my left hand. "There. I think it fits just fine."

Martin did not move, only smiled with what I hoped was a shared sense of relief.


	54. Chapter 54

Resignation

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

It had been a hell of a day fraught with all the usual - stupid and recalcitrant patients, a receptionist who at times seemed bent on driving me mad, and the row that Louisa and I had the night before. Yet the row had turned into a heart to heart that had been needed. I knew that Louisa worried, but the very idea of me being with Edith Montgomery made me sick to my stomach. Then the phone rang in the consulting room just after Pauline had left for the day.

Louisa was napping up stairs so I grabbed the phone quickly. "Portwenn Surgery. Doctor Ellingham speaking."

"Mart, I've spoken to Robert Dashwood," Chris Parsons said into my ear.

"I imagine he's preparing the boiling oil."

He laughed. "Hardly. He may be head of surgery but he's not part of the Inquisition."

I sighed. "Don't be so sure." When I was head of registrars I'd have skinned me alive.

"Martin look, Dashwood is prepared to withdraw his complaint."

"I know."

"You do? How?"

"I spoke to Robert three days ago."

"Bloody Hell! Mart, I practically went crawling to the man on my knees! And here you've…"

"I believe the words are 'made a clean breast of it'. That's what I've done."

He sighed into his phone. "Maybe that's for the best, then."

"I was reminded by someone that truth has a way of cutting to the quick - getting to the heart of the matter."

Chris chuckled again. "Figures you'd use a surgery metaphor. But what did you tell him?"

How to tell Parsons that I'd made an ass of myself? "I told him that my… issues… had _not_ been resolved."

"How did he take it?"

I swallowed slowly. "He… was quite… cross."

"I imagine _cross_ doesn't begin to cover it! He fairly screamed at me when I talked to him about you, old chum!"

Chum was hardly what I imagine Chris Parsons thought was our kind of connection. "Chris, if I have made things inconvenient for you…"

"Inconvenient! My God Mart! Do you have any idea of the trouble this has caused me and the PCT? Bad enough they think we're all a bunch of farmers, smugglers, and pirates out here! That we eat fried kippers at every meal and swill it down with cider or rum! MART! You made _all of us_ look bad!"

It was worse than I feared. "Chris, you'll have my resignation in the morning."

"Resignation? Oh, no! You'll not get off that easy! After this…"

"Yeah?"

"You're stuck here with the rest of the rubes, Mart old boy; stuck good and proper!"

I gasped at the thought. "I… I… hadn't imagined."

To my horror Parsons started to laugh and it was the sort of laugh that went on and on.

"Chris!"

But he would not stop.

"Oh for God's sake!" I shouted into the phone. I didn't like to be laughed at, and especially not by a colleague, or by my boss. Jokes at my expense were all too painful; bringing back any number of bad memories.

"Sorry, Martin! I should have driven out to Portwenn and pulled this on you in person just so I could see your face!" He giggled. "Mart, the truth of the matter is that Dashwood was quite cordial."

"Oh really."

"Yep. Seems your call took the wind out of his sails. All the fire he might have sent my way was defused when you called and gave him the simple truth."

"Yeah," I sighed. "Great. Swell."

"But this much is true, you know Mart old boy, you are good and truly sentenced to Portwenn, like it or not."

I sighed.

"What was that Mart? I didn't catch that."

I heard footsteps on the stair then Louisa came through the door.

"Hi," she said in her soft voice. Louisa held out her left hand where the engagement ring circled her pinky finger and smiled at me.

In less than four weeks the baby was due and no matter what I might think or do the child would have a mum and a dad. Louisa's face lit up as she looked at me, and I suppose the row of the previous night must have cleared the air between us. The fact that she was wearing the engagement ring once more must mean something.

"I got that Chris - I'm stuck out here," I said into the phone.

"Resigned to your fate? But with Louisa it can't be that awful, can it?"

"No." I hung up and Louisa came around the desk and perched on the arm of my desk chair.

"You okay?"

"Fine," I told her, and I almost believed it myself, but the words _resigned to my fate_ had such an awful ring to them.


	55. Chapter 55

Record

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

Chris Parsons stood by my elbow instructing Martin. "Look, Mart, just take it easy, and this will all be over soon."

Martin wrinkled his nose at the surroundings. The Village Hall had been equipped with rows of chairs and two long tables at the front, not that different from his final interview for the GP post, or the gymnasium where I was examined for the Portwenn head teacher. Martin walked up the center aisle and looked like he was eating a dead seagull.

"I've been telling him that, Chris," I said, having just come back from the toilet. I went over and slipped my hand into Martin's but it lay cold and dead in my hand like a codfish.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"Chris, who are the, uhmm," I nodded at the chairs at the front, "examiners?"

"Oh, yes. We have Dr. Dorothy Graves up from Falmouth, she's written a number of articles on diagnostic practices, Dr. Jaime Smythe from Penzance, as well as Dr. Timothy Waters from the PCT staff. There will also be Mr. Lyons from the PCT legal group plus his assistant."

"Legal?" I replied.

"Louisa, this is a legal proceeding," Martin answered. "What about… Dr. Montgomery?"

Chris shook his head. "We deposed her last week, as she would be unavailable."

"Maybe that's good," I said and squeezed Martin's hand. "Bit awkward. But just why is she unavailable today? I'd have thought she want to be here in person to stick the knife in."

"Louisa!" Martin blurted out. "_Don't_."

"Only fair, Martin. It's your right, to see her; hear from her own mouth the nasty lie she's been spreading."

Martin and Chris gave each other heavy stares then Martin spoke. "Chris reviewed her written statement with me already, Louisa."

"And you didn't tell me?" I bristled.

"I didn't want you to worry."

I sighed. "She's been trying to do everything she can to hurt you, Martin."

Martin stood like a statue for a moment. "This will soon be over."

I looked around the room. "Why so many chairs and why have it here?"

Chris answered me. "There are others who will be heard today. Certain members of the community have an interest."

"Damn," muttered Martin but his hand clutched mine. "Preparing the tar and feathers no doubt."

Chris shouted before I could. "Mart! Calm down!"

I brushed a bit of fluff from Martin's suit coat. As usually he was perfectly attired; this time in a soft gray suit, no pattern, with a brilliant white shirt and polished black shoes, and his teal tie was perfectly tied in a Windsor knot. I looked him up and down approvingly. "You do like to look the part, you know."

"Something wrong with my suit?" he asked with a sneer.

"Not at all."

"Then what are you doing?"

The door opened and five people came in. Chris rapidly introduced one and all. The solicitor was the easiest to identify, based on his nose in the air, while his aid was a young kid probably still at Uni.

The male doctors seemed bored by the proceedings, but Dorothy Graves inspected me with piercing blue eyes in a lined face. She was about sixty-five, I'd guess, tall and slender, and she wore a shiny mauve dress with a black jacket. "And you must be Louisa Glasson," she said to me. "Parsons has told me about you."

"Oh? What did Chris say?" I was wearing light gray maternity trousers and the largest maternity top I had as I seemed to be swelling at an alarming rate. It was a nice blouse, white with little roses embroidered around the square neck, and I noticed that Martin seemed to approve of my choice as I dressed that morning.

But he tried to have me stay away from the hearing. "You don't need to come," Martin told me.

"Why would I stay away?"

He muttered something I didn't catch. "What?"

"Fine," he said, so there I was.

Dr. Graves laughed. "Only that you've been trying to civilize Ellingham is all and Chris told me you were beautiful."

I chuckled back. "If you think about it Martin_ likely _thinkshe is the most civilized person in all of Cornwall. And thank you, but I don't feel very pretty at the moment. Just fat."

"When are you due love?"

"Three weeks, about."

Dr. Graves smiled. "Hang in there," she said but then looked hard at Martin. "Ellingham."

"Graves," he sniffed. "Any more trichinosis?"

"You two know one another?" I said.

Dr. Graves smiled. "I had a rather odd patient with odder symptoms and Parsons suggested I call Martin." She smiled. "Got it in one try, I believe."

Martin almost smiled at her. "It's what happens when you have a farmer that does not eat pork, yet contracts the disease from his own infected cattle, through surplus meal that he bought from a pig farmer. If you'd ordered tests on a simple stool sample…"

"_Yes_," Chris interrupted him. "You _two_ can talk about _faeces_ until the cows come home, later. Let's have the examiners, sit there at the tables, and Mart if you'd please have a seat just here?" He pointed to the chair set all alone in front of the tables.

Martin's face had an expression of rigid disgust but he sat, unbuttoning his suit coat and smoothing any wrinkles away. He shot his cuffs and crossed his arms. "Can we get this over with?"

I gave him an encouraging look which he ignored, of course. "Where, shall I…?"

Chris took my elbow. "Louisa, why don't you have this seat behind Martin?"

I sat demurely, if that was possible when looking like a puffed-up white balloon. I smiled at the examiners, and only Dr. Graves returned it. Smythe was left of center, next to Graves, with Waters as the obvious head honcho, and the solicitor to the right. His assistant, introduced only as Keifer, opened a laptop and put a microphone on the table. "Ready," he said.

Chris Parsons sat between Lyons and Waters with an apologetic expression. He nodded to Dr. Waters who nodded back.

Dr. Waters sniffed. "For the _record_, this is an examination into a complaint that has been lodged, Dr. Ellingham, by Dr. Edith Montgomery in a matter of a dereliction of care in your consulting room."

Martin shook his head minutely but didn't say anything.

Waters went on, his pince-nez bobbing on his red nose, under a shock of white curly hair. His complexion reminded me of Joan Norton, and his accent was London posh. "Now, Dr. Ellingham, this is not a trial, merely one of an examination. We will ask you questions, and we expect truthful answers. Nothing less than the truth is expected here."

"Why would I lie?" asked Martin and I winced at his icy tone.

"No, _no_!" I whispered.

Waters cleared his throat. "I assume that Miss Glasson is your…"

"Fiancée," Martin said.

Waters harrumphed. At me. "Yes… Miss Glasson, please don't interrupt. I shall allow you to stay and observe only."

I nodded. "Sorry." Dr. Smythe yawned but Dorothy showed concern for me.

She butted in. "For goodness, sake, Tim! No need to be so damn stuffy."

Waters laughed. "Fine then. Ellingham - _did_ you do anything wrong?"

In the silence you could have heard a pin drop. It stretched for a half-minute or more and I was reaching out to nudge Martin into action, when the door crashed open behind us and a horde of people flooded in chatting and blabbing.

Bert was leading a pack that included Al, Pauline Lamb, Penhale, a straggly gaggle of fisherman, the grocer, baker, and the garage man, along with old Mr. Albert; about twenty in all. Even Carrie Wilson was in the scrum, cleavage prominently exposed, with Mrs. Tishell standing at the door timidly.

Martin bellowed at them. "Get out!"

Bert Large pulled off his wooly cap and twisted it. "Doc - we came - well we came… Uhmm, did we miss anything?"

"Perfect," Martin muttered but I heard him. "Bloody village idiots!"


	56. Chapter 56

Report

**The characters, places and situations of ****_Doc Martin,_**** are owned by Buffalo Pictures. This story makes no claim of remuneration or ownership, nor do I make any attempt to infringe upon any rights of the owners or producers.**

**Thank you for reading and reviews are much appreciated.**

I knew the villagers were Bodmin, and I feared what bizarre and stupid things they would say, or do, or act out.

Bert Large laughed in spite of my shouting. "Doc! It's proper! No need to yell at us! We come to help!"

Louisa stood and stared at her friends and neighbors as the door swung open and even more people came in. I turned towards her and shook my head. "These are the people who will be offering comment?"

Al Large stepped forward. "No, no Doc! It's not like that at all!"

"Well, what is it like, Al?" Louisa asked him. "This is a private proceeding!" Her hands waved in the air. "Just - just get out! All of you!" she almost sobbed.

"Look, Louisa," Bert soothed, "we're here to help."

Penhale turned and started barking out orders. "Now! You lot have a seat and behave yourselves. Sorry Louisa, Doctor Ellingham… you see when I sorta…" he started blinking rapidly, "sorta mentioned…"

Louisa shouted back. "So you've been blabbing all over the village what's been going on?"

"Well, _no_, it's not like that at all," Joe answered. "I mean… some might think it is… but it's… sorry, Doc. Sorry Louisa. Maybe it is like that." Mercifully he shut up when it penetrated through his thick brain what he was saying. "Sorry…"

"Who are these people?" demanded Dr. Waters.

"Welcome to Portwenn, Dr. Waters," I told him. "This rabble seems to be my cheering section."

Bert laughed. "Like I said, Doc, we're here to help!"

"Great," I said. 'Wonderful."

Chris banged on the table with his fist until he got the crowd's attention. "Just sit down! All of you!"

I looked at Louisa. "This might not go very well," I sighed. She only pursed her lips and winced, then slowly sat with as much dignity as she could muster. I followed suit and miraculously the citizens of Portwenn did too.

Waters then spoke up. "Ellingham, tell us what happened."

I repeated the report of the first visit from Edith to my surgery. She was making sexual demands and was clearly inebriated. When she collapsed I ensured she was unharmed and then tucked her back into her car.

"And how did the local police get informed of this incident, that is, she was in her car?" Dr. Smythe asked.

"I…" taking a deep breath, I said, "I called Constable Penhale on the phone."

"Did you identify yourself?" he asked next.

"No." I cast a quick look at Louisa and she was clearly trying to remain calm and appear to be unmoved.

"Why not?" Smythe went on. "Seems to me you might have wanted documentary evidence."

I froze thinking how best to reply.

"Dr. Ellingham?" Waters intruded in my thoughts.

I looked over at Louisa and she was now staring at me. "I was embarrassed - not only by her arrival - but also…"

"You had previous relationship - a _personal_ one?" Graves interrupted.

I looked at Louisa and she nodded at me. "Yes. In medical school," I went on. "And but for a chance encounter in a hotel in London a few months ago, when I was staying there with Miss Glasson, I had neither seen nor thought of the woman for over fifteen years."

There was a quiet gasp behind me and I could tell it came from Mrs. Tishell.

Louisa touched my elbow and it struck me that not only was this public (for it would become so as soon as the crowd dispersed and started to blab) spectacle one that would injure me, it would also wound and worry Louisa. I sighed.

"Something else you want to say, Ellingham?" Waters asked.

I heard the door open again and looking back, I saw Auntie Joan enter, her face filled with concern. I stood up. "There is."

"Go on."

I reached out and took Louisa's fingers. "This matter was started by a chance encounter, fed then by jealousy, and eventually became an obsession. I have had not a chance to examine Dr. Montgomery up close, nor question her in detail, but I am fairly certain that she is suffering from de Clérambault's syndrome and that has been fueled by substance abuse." I straightened my shoulders and felt Louisa grip my hand tightly. "I have done wrong. I should have restrained the woman when she arrived at the surgery and called for an ambulance. I did not and I regret the actions that I did take. As I said I was embarrassed by her arrival and feared the worst. Now I know that in exchange a momentary humiliation has been traded for weeks of gossip, innuendo, and a whispering campaign."

"Now, there are those in this room, village, or county who do not like me, and they will be quite happy to relish any discomfort that has been visited upon me and Louisa Glasson. But I am stronger than they imagine. To those who do not care for me, I say, fine - think what you will. What you think of me does not matter. But what I do care about is _continuing_ to provide medical care for this village and surroundings. I will not be the only GP to work here - many have come before and many will come after - but each and every one of us is entitled to a consistent and competent method of medical care. The people sitting behind me and those outside these walls are sick with any number of chronic or emergent diseases and conditions, and now this matter will have planted a _question_ into their heads. Will they now _trust_ that tosser Martin Ellingham? Or will they continue to use home remedies that went out of mode in the Dark Ages? Those people are now my concern. If that is the case, I have failed my current and future patients if they do not trust me enough to enter my consulting room. I have failed them and broken their trust and I am very sorry for that damage. Would that I could go back in time and undo the damage I have caused."

I glanced down at Louisa and she rose to more firmly take my hand. "I made a mistake and I regret it," I told them, "and now I am prepared to accept your findings and any judgment or punishment that you may decide."

Surprisingly the examiners were nodding their heads and there was no sound from the multitude behind me. But then Bert Large muttered a "hear, hear," and the room erupted into applause and cheers.

"God," I groaned as I sat back down.

Louisa looked down at me and smiled. Her pretty mouth shaped the words _you did fine_.

I sighed hoping to God it was true.


End file.
